


Saudade

by Determined_Day_Dreamer



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Damaged SOUL, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Even More Flashbacks, Fever Dreams, First Meetings, Flashbacks, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Goat Mom Is Best Mom, Homelessness, Illness, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Intrusive Thoughts, Jealousy, Mental/Emotional Distress, Mental/Emotional Trauma, Mild Language, Monsters on the Surface, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Panic Attacks, Papyrus is ever the innocent cinnamon roll bean pole, Post-Neutral Route - Neutral Pacifist Ending, Reader Is Frisk, References to Depression, SOUL Mechanics, Self-Doubt, Supportive Alphys, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Usage of Second-Person POV, asides from some side-Alphyne stuff, not sure if there will be romance in this, probably not, recovering from trauma, references to child neglect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5776876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Determined_Day_Dreamer/pseuds/Determined_Day_Dreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a timeline where the Seventh Human escapes from Underground in the neutral-pacifistic ending, monsters are still trapped behind the Barrier, and Frisk has had a difficult life ever since they left. Homeless, alone, and living day-by-day, Frisk has never been less determined, nor more hopeless, in their entire life. They don't belong.<br/>However, five years after their adventure beneath Mt. Ebott, a new human child arises from the Underground. The "True Pacifist", they're calling her.</p><p>Only this time, the monsters have followed them to the Surface.</p><p>Desperate, lonely, but plagued by guilt for leaving their friends behind, Frisk can't find the will to face them all after so long. But they miss them - merciful God above, do they miss them. They don't know how much longer they can keep this up. They're hungry, sick and miserable, and so very, very alone.</p><p>Will Frisk ever find the determination to face their friends again? And can the monsters of the Underground finally give this Fallen child somewhere they can call home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Longing Like No Other

**Author's Note:**

> "Saudade is a word in Portuguese and Galician (from which it entered Spanish) that claims no direct translation in English. It describes a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never return. A stronger form of saudade might be felt towards people and things whose whereabouts are unknown, such as a lost lover, or a family member who has gone missing, moved away, separated, or died.
> 
> Saudade is the recollection of feelings, experiences, places or events that once brought excitement, pleasure, well-being, which now triggers the senses and makes one live again. It can be described as an emptiness, like someone or something that should be there in a particular moment is missing, and the individual feels this absence. It brings sad and happy feelings all together, sadness for missing and happiness for having experienced the feeling."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been five years since Frisk escaped Mt. Ebott. It seems life on the Surface wasn't quite what they were expecting.

Your eyes were wide, jaw slightly agape with nothing short of pure disbelief. Peering through a dirty window at the back of some ma-and-pa cafe in the center of some human city you hadn't bothered to learn the name of. It's not like there was any reason to know it. No-one would have cared, anyways. Because if somebody did, you wouldn't be here, hunkered down in a filthy back alley, standing on your tip-toes to peer into a homey kitchen, eyes fixated on an old television currently playing the news. At first, you'd been on the hunt for some food to swipe when the leftover stuff was tossed out, but the news-story had since caught your attention.

  
A befuddled, maybe even scared-looking woman was reporting at the scene of what looked like a tiny mountain village. The half-built structures of houses mingled with finished complexes in the background. The ground looked like it was paved in cobblestone and earth, exposed by countless feet, the pathways winding off somewhere into a sea of tree that served as the anchoress' backdrop. You couldn't make out much more than that. Every now and again, someone - or something - would meander past the camera, offering a nervous smile or a wave.

  
The headlines spiraled across your vision, twirling and twisting in your brain like a parasitic worm. The words " _monster_ ", and " _settlement_ ", and " _underground_ " repeated themselves to you, and then, suddenly, the camera panned to one side, the woman walking with it, as it focused on a large, cozy-looking home, a pair of creatures standing in front of it. One figure was unbelievably large, wearing a purple tunic with a golden-white crest emblazoned across its front. Thick, strong limbs, bare feet, with a rounded muzzle and long ears. Covered in downy, white fur from head to toe. A monster. Somehow you knew that she gave exceptionally soft hugs.

  
Next to the goat-monster, stood a human child, hands politely cupped behind her back. She couldn't have been much older than you. She only came up to the monster's mid-waist, elegantly thin with pale complexion, and long, curly red hair. She was wearing a sweater and scarf - they looked hand-knit - to keep her safe from the cold of late autumn, but what you could see of her skin was decorated in light freckles. Her eyes were a kind, soft hazel, but they held distinctive flecks of green inside them.

  
Her sweater had the same crest on it. The Delta Rune felt like a punch to the face, and seeing the human and monster holding hands nearly made you double over with a blow to the stomach.

  
Your tummy twisted itself into knots as a new word, " _adoption_ ", came to your attention.

  
Suddenly, you didn't feel very hungry anymore, never mind the fact that you hadn't had a decent meal in... months? Maybe even years? It was hard to tell at this point. Your feet had started to tingle from standing on your toes for so long, and your hands were numb after holding onto the window sill, being exposed to the chilly air. A figure ducked back into the kitchen, and you gasped quietly, moving quickly to take cover behind the dumpster you stood a few feet away from. It was a tough squeeze, but thankfully you were thin enough to still fit back there. The scent was god-awful - years of garbage combined into one toxic-smelling slew tried to force its way through the tattered bits of what was once called a scarf, and up your nose - but you held your breath and bared it.

  
A human stumbled outside, weighed down by plastic sacks of precious cargo, tossed out and left to literally rot. You briefly felt grateful for people's wastefulness - that just meant there was more for you.

  
You held your breath, not daring to move even a single hair hunkered down in the dumpster's dark shadow, as one of the employees stumbled over. You heard them grunt with effort, saw the black lid lift, and the garbage bags _thunk_ ed into the bottom of the container. Nervous anticipation fluttered through your heart, but not in a good way, as the person paused a moment after finishing their disposal. Usually they ran right back inside, not wanting to stand out in the cold any longer than necessary. But this person - whoever they were - was hesitating.

  
There was a shuffle, a sigh, and they walked almost reluctantly back inside.

  
You waited for a good five minutes before daring to slip out of the smelly hiding place.

As you rounded the bin, preparing to search for something of sustenance, your eyes spied a Styrofoam take-out box on the ground in front of it. Curiously, you picked it up. Warmth seeped into your frosty fingers as you flicked the lid away.

  
Inside, lay a slightly over-stuffed burger, sided by a heap of salty fries, and several ketchup packets lined up in one of the corners. A swell of euphoria and gratitude rose in your chest, and you couldn't resist walking up to look through the window again, the box now closed, and clutched tight between your hands. No-one was in there for the moment, but you thanked the employee either way.

  
At least _someone_ was willing to show you a little mercy.

* * *

As you meandered down the sparsely-populated sidewalk, sticking close to the walls of buildings on your right, you pondered over the kindness that had been shown you. The take-out was still warm in your hands, and you held the precious gift as close as possible, careful to keep it from tipping too much to one side, so everything stayed fresh and put together. The only misgivings the food brought you, was the knowledge that someone was aware of your presence at the cafe. You doubted you'd be able to go back any time soon.

  
Last time you'd stuck around one place for too long, it... hadn't ended well. Apparently, the owner of that particular pub wasn't feeling entirely generous, and didn't appreciate you rooting about through their garbage cans. He _was_ , however, drunk off his ass. You doubted that was legal, considering.

  
A shiver unrelated to the cold ran down your spine. Humans could be rather cruel to one another.

  
You still had the scars to prove it. Then again, you had plenty of them. Most of which you'd gotten during...

  
A minuscule sigh escaped you, and you tried to make yourself look small and inconspicuous as a group of humans passed. It was funny - ever since falling beneath Mt. Ebott, you'd found yourself subconsciously categorizing between the two separate species. Before then, humans were just people, beings you passed every day; monsters and monster wars were nothing more than myth and legend from centuries ago. But now, humans were _humans_ , monsters were _monsters_ , and the latter of the two seemed to have more humanity in them than the creatures the word was categorized after. In a twisted way, it was almost humorous. And now, it seemed that monsters were going to become _a part of humanity_.

  
You sighed again, vaguely noticing as the walkway beneath your feet became more and more dilapidated, and city buildings and roads gave was to overgrown gravel paths and crumbling, boarded-up walls.

  
After all this time... It'd been _five years_ since you first fled from the Underground. Five long years since you'd seen hide or hair of a monster. Half a decade had been the last time you had smelled the warmth of soil and magic, traversed through the dust of the Ruins, stepped across the white-covered grounds of Snowdin, felt the damp, humid breeze of Waterfall on your skin, or the burning heat of Hotland on your sweater-clad back.

  
Five years before was both the first, and final time you could recall feeling you belonged.

  
In all truth, five years wasn't really _that_ long, but for your thirteen-year-old self, it seemed like a lifetime away.

  
A part of you had been tempted to go back, on more than one occasion. But something always stopped you from scaling the mountainside of Ebott a second time. For every occurrence, it was the same thing.

You were scared.

Scared of falling upon Flowey and that strange, spiritual presence that had plagued you during your travels. Scared of facing Toriel again, after leaving her behind in the Ruins, after she'd cared for you with a love so tender and whole-hearted. Of seeing the Skeleton Brothers while they patrolled for humans, of being brought back to Undyne, the Captain of the Royal Guard. Of coming across the meek, nervous genius that was Underground's Royal Scientist, Alphys, and her creation-slash-friend Mettaton, who had a knack for entertainment and (apparently) human-exterminating.

  
You were alone now, truly and completely. It brought peace, but also sorrow. A large, dilapidated house stood farther up the road, a silhouette in the late afternoon light.

  
But mostly... you were scared of wait would await you in the Castle.

  
Asgore would not be waiting for you in the Throne Room this time, you knew. It had been a rather cruel twist of fate, no matter how perfect. One might have even called it poetic justice. Both a human and a monster soul was needed to cross the Barrier, you knew, and Asgore had destroyed the only chance you had at offering him Mercy. Unable to Spare him, you were forced to Fight. One human child, finishing off a monster King, who had already claimed the souls of six human children.  
One soul. That was all the both of you needed. You hadn't been ready to die. You were scared of death. Why else would you keep using your determination to continue, after being killed off by the monsters so many times? Anyone else would have given up a lot sooner.

  
In the end, you had almost been kept from gaining your wicked prize. Flowey had tried to intercept the King's soul, and shatter it to bits. But you had worked faster than he anticipated. He hadn't been given enough time to enact his plan to its fullest potential. He hadn't had the chance to collect the six human souls lying in wait in the basement.

  
And, with Asgore's soul slowly crumbling to dust in your hands, you had fled. You didn't care if Flowey could give a " _better ending_ ", you just wanted _out_ , and you wanted out _now_. If you stayed, it was only a matter of time before another monster came along to avenge their fallen king, and claimed the seventh soul in his name.

  
You had already chosen to kill King Asgore, rather than face death. You wouldn't be able to bring yourself to kill the Queen, too. But that still didn't mean you wanted to die.

  
The last thing you'd heard from Underground was a voicemail on your cellphone from Sans, recorded a few days after you'd returned to the Surface. Asgore's Soul had dissolved into dust a few hours afterward - frankly you had been surprised he held out for so long - and by then, you knew that going back had never been more of a not-option than it was in that exact moment. You couldn't bring yourself to just wipe the dust off your hands. So, you kept it in that heart-shaped locket you'd found in the Castle, where a photograph, or other keepsake should have been held.

  
Tears had started to crest down your cheeks at some point - you weren't sure when, nor could you find it in you to care. The guilt was still like a toxic bubble in your throat, choking and burning until all you could do was try not to scream. You had murdered the hopes and dreams of a kingdom, and left said kingdom trapped beneath the earth - for who knew how long? All so you could get away. Because you were _scared_.

  
God, if anyone was a monster in this situation, it was _you_.

  
The box in your hands was still warm, but not as much as before. You wiped the tears away, and went up the front steps into your home.

Well, in reality, "home" was a foreclosed building that had been left to rot years ago. It had still been in pretty good condition when you'd happened upon it, and you worked day after day to maintain the structure (to the best of your ability). The walls - inside and out - were mostly peeled free of paint - well, excluding the faded graffiti. Nearly every window was broken, cracked, or missing altogether. The porch sagged in some places, and the overhanging cover had large hole in the wood that made it up. The front door sagged on its hinges with a large hole in the bottom half, and the entire left side of the house seemed to pull a little farther down than the right.

  
You slipped through the hole - over which a stained, light-green blanket had been pinned - and wandered inside. The house had been foreclosed before its previous owners were able to remove all of their furniture, it seemed, as there were still chintzy armchairs and couches in the foyer, weather-worn counters in the kitchen, along with a dining table and spindly chairs in their namesake room. There was even an old, antique piano in the room by the stairwell! It was old and out-of-tune, but you still liked to play on it sometimes, pretending it was well-kept and on a grand stage as you preformed for a crowd of hundreds - perhaps thousands! It had been some time since your last concert... hopefully the kind, adoring fans weren't missing you too badly.  
Traveling up the stairs (and having to jump over a few that had broken through), you bypassed a couple empty guest rooms and bathrooms, to the master bed-and-bath at the end of the hallway. Some floorboards and wall panels were missing here and there, and the scent of mildew and old wood was heavy in the air. A nighttime chill was beginning to settle over the frost-slicked building.

  
It wasn't perfect, but it was home. It had been since you were eight, when you ran away from the monsters beneath the mountain, and back into the world humans above. After the first few attempts, you had never really bothered yourself with trying to find some sort of alternative housing. The children you had encountered usually made beating you black-and-blue a popular sport, and the neglectful "caretakers" hadn't given much of a damn about any of their charges. The only perks was a slightly-better-than-bad heating system, and the promise of three meals a day. Still... you couldn't say you were any happier in these places, than you were now. If anything, it was an equal amount of misery. But at least you could do whatever you pleased here, without fear of being picked on or scolded.

Closing the bedroom door behind you in attempts to insulate the inside a little better, you carefully placed your charitable meal beside a literal nest of blankets and pillows, and undressed. Dancing over the cold floor to an old, lopsided wardrobe to spare your poor, bare feet (well, to spare your bare _everything_ , really). One of the sides had collapsed before you'd come here, so you just stacked/threw your clothes inside it. There weren't any hangers to use, anyways.

Slipping into a loose pair of designated nightclothes - a gray T-shirt and black bottoms, patterned with white skulls - you finally settled yourself on the floor to eat. It was probably best to go for the burger first - you wanted to ration out what you had, and the meat was sure to spoil long before the fries.

  
Upon further examination of the now-lukewarm food, you were delighted to find the burger had all the fixings anyone could have desired to go along with it. Lettuce, tomato, cheese, some round cuts of onion, pickle slices, condiments... thank you, kind human employee! You set the sesame seed bun to the side and plucked them off one-by one. It was a little messy, but you didn't mind. The veggies would go bad before anything else - best to have those now. Maybe you could save the patty for tomorrow's breakfast? Wait, on second thought, you could eat the bun and some fries then. The patty would be tomorrow's dinner.

  
After chasing the fixings down with a small handful of fries, and licking your fingers clean, you closed the box, and placed it just inside the wardrobe. Hanging up your dirty day-clothes on a fallen bit of rafter to change into tomorrow, you moved on to doing your usual rounds. Dusk had fallen by this point, and you saw bits of a fire-stained sky above trees and overgrown greenery surrounding your ramshackle home while readjusting blankets and sheets that had been secured over the empty windows. It did wonders for insulation, and even helped when there were storms.

  
Golden-red light peered through the blotchy makeshift curtains as you retreated to your little "nest". It seemed that, out of everything left in the house, beds were not one of them. The frames, sure, but not an actual mattress. And it was too drafty downstairs to sleep on a chair or couch. So you settled for gathering the soft things, and moving them here. After washing and drying them in the sun (there was a deep-well pump in the backyard; it wasn't clean enough for you to feel safe drinking it all the time, but it was how you washed your clothes and body if they got really nasty), you'd laid out every cushion, sheet, comforter, and throw pillow you could get your hands on into the comfy little set-up you had now. It was enough for two of you to fit on, which was nice, since you tended to toss and turn, and the swaddling of cloth made you feel safe and toasty during colder nights. They were patched, some filled with holes, and had the lingering scent of mildew and dirty feet, but it was still better than nothing.

Wrapping the softest blanket of the pile over your shoulders, you fished out a decorative pillowcase from somewhere by your feet, and pulled it into your lap. There was something solid and rectangular inside, and you took it out. An ornate little jewelry box peered innocently up at you. You unlatched the lid, and opened it. Inside lay a few keepsakes.

  
That cute kitten keychain you'd found on the sidewalk two years ago (it reminded you of Temmie), laden with scavenged charms (a small branch - complete with leaf at the end of it -, a pair of ballet slippers, a frying pan, a boxing glove, a book, two obviously-toy knives and a cartoon gun). Then, there were scraps of what seemed like random junk:

  
A used bandage, a faded scrap of ribbon, a fairly masculine-looking bandanna, the leftover bits from an old, stained apron and tutu, a cloudy pair of glasses, a piece of leather from an aged cowboy hat.

Finally, your eyes rest on the reddish, heart-shaped locket, and a bulky cellphone. Absently, you press a finger to your lips, before setting it on the locket, knowing that inside the dust of a mighty being rested. The phone was removed, slowly, carefully, and the keepsake box closed and set aside. You made sure to wrap it up in its pillowcase, so everything inside stayed nice and cozy. Your mind drifted back the the news report you'd seen earlier.

  
The phone still worked just fine - but then again, Alphys had been the one to modify it, and she was a _genius_. You just had to turn it off every once in a while so it could automatically replenish its lost battery power...

  
An image of the human child holding Toriel's hand sent a stab of longing into your heart. Doubt was gnawing away at your head.

  
If _she_ had gotten out alive, then who was to say _you_ wouldn't have? You could have been her. Standing there, proudly, beside the monster you had once asked to call "mom" (and then flirted with directly after), holding her hand, with talk of being adopted into the family. Maybe Asgore needn't have died. You could be telling jokes with Sans and cooking spaghetti with Undyne and Papyrus. Or spend time watching anime with Alphys. Singing, dancing, and shopping with Mettaton. Listening to music and laying around with Napstablook. Living and helping build the settlement around Mt. Ebott. _You_ could have been the Monster Ambassador for the Underground.

  
_You_ could have been the True Pacifist. _You_ could have made a difference. _You_ could have been loved.

  
Instead, you murdered the only who gave them all hope, and left them all behind. All so you could save your own skin.

  
And now look at you. Homeless, living in a foreclosed house in the middle of forest-filled nowhere, watching as that little Pacifist girl lived a life you had so desperately craved, but most certainly did not deserve.

  
Hot tears started to drip down your face.

  
They were all probably over at whichever house Toriel called home. Eating butterscotch-cinnamon pie, sharing stories, telling jokes. Basking in each others love and friendship.

  
You bit your lip and hiccuped.

Then they would all leave. " _see ya, kiddo,_ " Sans would say; " _Farewell, Human!_ " Papyrus would chirp; " _See you tomorrow, Punk!_ " Undyne would cheer; " _B-Bye-bye, s-sleep well,_ " Alphys would stammer; " _Goodnight, Darling!_ " Mettaton would croon.

You hugged the cellphone hard against your chest, beginning to shake.

Toriel was probably tucking the True Pacifist child into bed - she was probably the same age as you - and pressing a warm, furry kiss to her forehead. Maybe reading her a story, or singing a lullaby to help her sleep. Swaddled up in warm blankets and even warmer hugs.

A choked whimper ripped its way from your chest. It hurt.

" _Goodnight, my child_ ," Toriel was most likely saying, " _I will see you in the morning._ " Then, in the middle of the night, she would leave a slice of Surprise Pie on the nightstand. The human child would wake up to it, and go about whatever routine she and your mother had developed over however long they'd lived together.  
Your heart was thudding against your ribs. That hurt, too.

  
Then, right before she closed the door behind her, Toriel would turn around in the doorway. The warmest, most tender of looks would cross her soft face. Her motherly radiance would be haloed by the hall light, and she would give the Pacifist child the sincerest of smiles this world had ever witnessed. And she would say, in the most genuine tone any creature could ever muster:

  
" _I love you, my child._ "

  
You began to sob in earnest. Tears made your eyes and face shine in the falling light, casting your tired little house and tired little body into darkness, with nothing but the phone screen to light your way. Your shoulders jerked, your chest heaved, and every cry and whimper was a split-second from turning into a shriek of pure, agonizing sorrow. You held that bulky cellphone to your chest as if it were the only thing keeping you anchored to this world, and if you let go, you'd plunge down into the black vastness of the Void. Every breath was a painful, shuddering gasp, and you felt your face tingle and your head spin and you curled into yourself, wishing desperately for nothing more than a friend to tell you that you would be okay. That all of this was just a bad dream, and when you woke up, you would be in your mother's arms as she rocked you back to a more peaceful sleep.

  
You sniffled and sobbed, trying to clean the wetness from your face with your shirt, but it wasn't working out very well. New tears replaced the old ones, and your nose was running badly.

  
You were just a _kid_ , god _dammit_! What did you do to deserve this? Why did you have to run away from the other humans? From the Underground? From Toriel? Why did you have to climb that _stupid_ mountain?!

  
By the time your wails had died down into (rather painful) hiccups, it was completely dark outside, save for the moon and stars. Your entire body still trembled. Before you knew what you were doing, you opened up the screen on your old cellphone, and started pressing buttons.

  
A little check-mark accompanied by the text " _message sent_ " seemed to drain every last bit of energy from your bones, and you hunkered down in your nest for the night.

  
You sniffed again, and whispered to yourself, "G... g-good... good ni-ight, F... Fri-Frisk," before your aching eyes closed, and the merciful blackness of sleep overtook your mind.


	2. kinda late for an apology, don'cha think?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monsters have officially announced their return to the Surface, and Sans has a few things on his mind in the aftermath.

Cheers and pleasant chatter were all Sans' non-existent ears could hear that night. Within the House of Dreemurr, there was good food (something _other_ than spaghetti, thank God), bad laughs (in the others' opinion, not his or Tori's), and friends sitting all around with enthusiasm in their faces. The older monsters, such as Toriel, Alphys, and even Sans himself, were helping themselves to a drink of slightly-alcoholic nature (not very strong stuff, but enough so they could get a nice buzz with a few, fancy glasses of it), while the younger ones (or those who either: a) were no longer permitted to drink alcohol in front of a young audience, or; b) considered themselves above the influence of drinking and preferred a non-alcoholic beverage) enjoyed water, tea, and anything of the like.  
  
"Congratulations everyone," Toriel was saying, politely tipping her glass in a toast to the others, "Monsterkind has finally taken their first steps into rejoining the humans on the Surface! We have made so much progress in these past months, and I am so proud and thankful towards all of you for the help you have so kindly given." Sans and the others mirrored the action, and the short skeleton exchanged a smile with the Queen. "I am happy to be able to call each of you my friend."  
  
The enthusiastic talking of his friends buzzed around Sans like static, and after finishing off the flute of his fancy-drink (honestly he had no clue what the stuff was called - it kind of tasted like grapes mixed with Sea Tea), the short skeleton found himself spacing off, thoughts wandering aimlessly.  
  
Five months. It had been five whole months - nearly _half a year_ \- since the Barrier had fallen. And, God above, they'd been the greatest months of Sans' life. The village was being added on to and improved with every day, and more and more monsters were beginning the process of migrating 'upstairs', as it were. His friends - and most importantly, his brother - were happy.  
  
Then there was the kid.  
  
Monsters had already given the squirt a slough of nicknames, calling her things like the ' _Angel_ ', or the ' _Savior_ ', or the ' _Pacifist_ ' of their race... personally, Sans found those names too fancy-shmancy. 'Kid' worked just fine.  
  
Shiloh liked it better that way, at least.  
  
The human girl was a soft-spoken soul, but when she had something to say, you'd soon figure out what it was. Taller than most children her age, lithe and agile, Sans had no doubt about how well she would fit in with the human standards of beauty when she'd grown up a little more. She was sweet and humble and forgiving, willing to give anyone who'd wronged her a second chance. Shiloh was one determined kid.  
  
Truth be told, she kind of meant the world to him. But then again, Shiloh meant a lot to every monster in the Kingdom. She had saved them, after all. Freed them from generations of darkness and despair beneath the surface of the Earth.  
  
She gave them hope. Something to believe in.  
  
She had given _Sans_ hope for his future.  
  
Throughout the time Shiloh had been Underground, the skeleton couldn't remember a single time where she'd needed - or even _attempted_ \- to use any sort of SAVE or RESET function. She always managed to get out of a bad situation and/or heal herself before the worst happened. She seemed set in the fact that her choices were what they were, and they had to stay that way. No do-overs, no back tracking, and (thank whatever God there was up here) no RESETs. Sometimes it made Sans question if she even had the power for those time shenanigans in the first place. He didn't want to ask her - questioning about it might bring up her curiosity, and with that, a RESET would be imminent.  
  
Sans didn't know it he could put up with another RESET. Not after he'd _finally_ started to let his guard down and enjoy life on the Surface. Somewhere, deep down, he knew that the monsters had made it up there before, but he couldn't recall much after that initial twilight they'd walked into after the Barrier first fell. Sure, he remembered the strange heat on his bones, the light painting everything with gold... and the endless, blue-black depths of a sky painted with stars far more beautiful than any crystal in Waterfall.  
  
But there had never been a village, or paved streets, or anything more than the framework of houses. There had never been an official announcement to the humans that monsters were living among them once again. Never a meeting set up with leaders and ambassadors of the world to give monsters their rights in a new society. There hadn't been any schools set up, and the Queen hadn't been given the chance to reach her dream of being a teacher...  
  
No-one had even had the chance to pursue their dreams. Everything had been sent back to the way they were before they could even _consider_ all the possibilities that stretched before them.  
  
He couldn't remember how many RESETs there had been, last time they did this song-and-dance. Sans tried not to flinch at the memories.  
  
The... Other Kid, as he sometimes thought of them, had... well, they'd been _something_ , that was for sure. All of their Determination, all of those LOADs and SAVEs and RESETs, done on a whim. All of the times he'd felt them start over after being killed during a seemingly endless amount of timelines (and so, so many of them being caused by Sans' own magic). He'd watched them go from a psychotic mass-murderer who'd wiped out the entire Underground (himself included), to a sociopathic freak taking turns with who they killed, just to see how it affected things later on in their little 'game', to a decent, voiceless squirt who let him stack twenty-nine apostrophe-dogs on their head (but _only_ twenty-nine; thirty was just too excessive). And no matter what the timeline, they always did it with a grin on their face.  
  
For awhile there, he _actually_ thought the Other Kid had a chance at being the human who accomplished all of this. Something deep down in Sans' non-existent guts told him they _did_ , a handful of times, but it never _stayed_ that way. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in Snowdin to Papyrus scolding him for waking up late, and sending him off to slack on his sentry duties. Telling old knock-knock jokes through an old door to hear the same old laughs from Toriel behind it. It was soul-sucking, to say the least.  
  
Not to mention what happened upon their hurried departure from Underground.  
  
Now, Sans wouldn't necessarily say he _blamed_ the Other Kid for what they did... but... _God_ , that was a low blow. Everyone had been _so_ _convinced_ that this kid had been _the one_. The last soul to steal, the final human to wander those underground caverns they'd been trapped in for _so damn long_...  
  
And then they weren't.  
  
And then they murdered the King. One of the few beacons of hope the Underground had left.  
  
And they just... _left_. Without so much as a word to anyone. Not that Sans (or any monster, really) would've been all that friendly towards the human child who had just assassinated their leader. But it would have been better than _that_. Poor Undyne had been _heartbroken_. The Other Kid was the reason she and Alphys had hooked up, who nodded along and smiled and tolerated her whenever she raved about the two of them being 'besties'. Then, the two-faced brat turns around and kills someone she'd come to see as a father-figure!  
  
Sans took a small breath to calm himself, feeling the signs that indicated his magic was trying to act out on his emotional state. Couldn't have that at a fancy, friendly little celebration like this, now could he?  
  
A calm, concerned voice broke through his thoughts. "Sans...?" it said with bird-like whimsy. The skeleton-monster blinked, eye-lights refocusing onto reddish hair and kind eyes speckled with green. The hair had since been braided, and the winter wear swapped for more comfortable, casual clothes. She looked pleasant yet confused. "Is everything alright?"  
  
Flashing his trademark, easy-going grin, Sans nodded his head and stood up. "yep everything's good here, kiddo," he assured while walking a few paces away, now-empty glass still clasped in his bony fingers. "just tired, is all."  
  
"You're _always_ tired," Shiloh needlessly reminded, trailing behind him with a smile.  
  
A small chuckle was her response. "got me there, pal." He absently wandered into the large kitchen, and placed his glass on the counter next to the sink. Tori spent a lot of her time in here, and it showed. The counter-tops and cutting boards held tell-tale marks of ingredient-chopping along with more than a few spills. Here and there, the surfaces looked a tad darker than the rest - a result of mishandled fire-magic, no doubt. There was an oven as well, but that was more or less for Shiloh and guests to use, seeing as Toriel preferred to do the majority of her cooking using magic. It added a nice touch to the flavor, Sans had noted.  
  
Shiloh was quiet for a moment, before speaking up again. They sounded a little bit hesitant. "So... what's on your mind?" she murmured with polite interest. Perhaps a touch of concern. It was so like her, always worrying about everyone else. The kid really needed to worry about herself once in a while; it had to be tiring, being so damn selfless.  
  
It kinda reminded him of...-  
  
He stopped that thought right there, doing his best to keep his smile from dropping at the conflicted pang that twinged inside of his soul. _I wonder how they're doing,_ he pondered. Probably went back to whatever cushy life they had with their human family. Seeing as how they'd been so damn eager to get back, that they'd left everyone else to rot. All the monsters they claimed were their friends-!  
  
"Sans? Are you sure you're alright? You seem a little more... spaced out, than usual."  
  
_shit._ Now the kid was worried about him. _way to go, bonehead._ He tossed them another, somewhat-forced grin over his shoulder. "heh. guess that makes me a _star_ then, huh?" Shiloh allowed the smallest of smiles to cross her face, but it was still generally dissatisfied with the answer. She was quickly learning all of Sans' evasion techniques. It was causing a much bigger pain in his tailbone than he'd anticipated; made it more difficult to dodge uncomfortable questions. "i'm fine, kiddo, really. just got a lot rattlin' around in my skull, y'know? a lotta change in such little time. this whole deal is just... _wow_."  
  
Well, that was one way to describe it, anyways.  
  
"and it's all thanks to you, kid." The smile he sent Shiloh was more genuine this time. She grinned back whole-heartedly, and wrapped her thin arms around the skeleton in a tight hug. Sans huffed under his breath as she squeezed his ribcage. His grin turned soft as he ran his bony fingers through her bangs, which had been too short to be pulled back into the braid. He brushed the hair to the side, hooking some of it behind her ear.  
  
Shiloh gave his ribs another squeeze, murmuring, "I love you, Sans," quietly, resting her head on the furry lining of his jacket's hood. The sincerity in the child's voice made Sans' metaphorical heart skip a beat, and his breathing faltered for a split-second, before falling back into its usual, subconscious rhythm.  
  
So this was the kid Toriel planned on adopting. All that 'True Pacifist' malarkey aside, the skeleton honestly could not think of a better fit for the goat-monster's family. She'd already lost so much - two kids dying in the same day, God knows how long ago (one of them secretly being a fucking Anti-Christ in disguise) - and her once-loving marriage falling apart at the seams. Taking in and caring for six Fallen children, only for them to leave, and dying along the way across the Underground. Then the seventh one went and murdered her ex-husband, before high-tailing it out of the Underground for good. Leaving the monsters practically devoid of hope, and the newly-named Queen to pick up the slack they'd left in their wake.  
  
God, was Sans glad his friend had decided to peacefully resolve things with the next Fallen Human, rather than sending the Royal Guard after them to do the dirty work.  
  
Now, he respected the late King - he was rumored to be very kind and courteous, and Sans honestly wished he could have gotten a chance to know him a little more, or something - but sicking your Guard on some innocent, weak, defenseless human child was low (granted, not all of them were _totally_ innocent, but for the ones who were, it was actually pretty damn despicable). Maybe Sans was a little biased - after all, Papyrus had finally been permitted by Undyne and Toriel to join the ranks of the Royal Guard, and frankly, the thought of his cool, caring, passionate, friendly, pasta-loving bro being forced to slaughter someone made his nonexistent stomach roil - but it was _still_ pretty underhanded in hindsight.  
  
Plus, if Tori had decided to kill any other humans Underground, then they would've missed out on one hell of an addition to their hodgepodge of a family.  
  
Two (awesome) skeletons, a spear-wielding fish, a weaboo, brainiac lizard (with the occasional addition of the bucket-of-bolts she'd made, and his cousin), and an oversized, fire-bending goat.  
  
Add a thirteen-year-old human into the mix, and it was a guaranteed happy ending, right?  
  
He hoped so. After all of the never-ending time fuckery the Other Kid had brought with them, Sans could use a happy ending to work towards. No more repeating jokes, playing the same old pranks, or going through familiar days, talking and acting as if he'd read it from the script of a play. No more pretending to be interested in some weak, whoopee-cushion-handshake gag when all he wanted to do was summon up a Blaster and light the little freak up and out of existence.  
  
After a fleeting pause, Sans felt his arms move to wrap around Shiloh's waist, and he returned the embrace in full, his soul flooding with compassion.  
  
"love you, too, shi'."

* * *

  
It was later than Sans cared for by the time he had finally stumbled his way back home. Toriel had _insisted_ the brothers spend the night. Papyrus had eagerly agreed to the sleepover, but as appealing as the thought was, Sans honestly just wanted to get away from any extra people, plop down in his bed, and sleep until noon (but no later - he didn't wanted to miss his scheduled noon-thirty nap). Besides, though he was sleepy, a lazy man was ever the one to cut corners, and Sans already knew every shortcut within a five-mile radius of the settlement like the back of his hand.  
  
The house (which had been built to perfectly replicate the one he and Pap had Underground, complete with snow on the roof and a note-covered sock on the living room floor) was quieter than Sans would have liked. However, he knew Papyrus was safe and probably having the time of his life with Shiloh. Tori was probably reading them a bedtime story as he wandered upstairs.  
  
Like everything else in the house, his bedroom was generally similar to the one he'd had Down There. The only difference being his room in Snowdin had more time to get dirty. The trash tornado was noticeably emptier than usual, and a few patches of carpet had yet to be covered by dirty clothes and/or ketchup packets.  
  
His pet rock (named Lump, 'cause he was a lump) was sitting on the bed next to his phone. Sans brushed his fingers over Lump's smooth back, and picked him up. "heya buddy." The pet rock was set on the carpet, and a pink slipper halfheartedly toed him over towards the vortex, until the little guy was close enough to be sucked up into it.  
  
There. Now he had somewhere to play for the night. That'd be enough exercise, right?  
  
Not even bothering to change, Sans flopped face-first onto the mattress, and heaved a great sigh. He could already feel sleep pulling him down into darkness...  
  
**_Bzzt, bzzt._**  
  
_what the-?_  
  
Something buzzed against his femur, unpleasantly jarring Sans away from the edges of slumber. Groaning, he snaked a hand under his chest, and groped the blankets at random until his phalanges managed to take hold of the sleep-stealing culprit: His cellphone.  
  
He hardly used the thing, really. Its only purpose nowadays was for sending jokes to Toriel and trolling Papyrus online (anonymous commenting was a blessing for the mischievous). He doubted any of the others were awake right now, and even if they were, why would they bother texting him? Maybe it was Toriel with a bad joke for the evening's finale; or Papyrus and Shiloh, bidding him goodnight.  
  
Sans squinted his heavy eyes open at the screen (jesus why was it so damn _bright_?) to open the message, before a name written in the address bar had the lights of his eyes going out from pure shock.  
  
**_ONE (1) New Message!_**  
  
**_FROM: Friskybits_**  
  
He stared at the name a moment, eye-sockets empty and black, and opened the message with a blank expression. Eye-lights blinking back into existence, they flickered over a short message. Sans' teeth clicked together, and the look in his eyes was strained.  
  
**_I'm sorry._**  
  
He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. For what? Over five fucking years, after all they did and-! Why that little... _they_ , had a lot to be _sorry_ about, far as he was concerned.  
  
Christ almighty... he was _way_ too tired to be dealing with this bullshit.  
  
Against his better judgment, Sans clicked _REPLY_ , and sent them a response.  
  
_me too, kid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much going on in this one, I'm afraid - but don't worry, we'll be progressing soon enough!
> 
> The story will most likely switch perspectives between Frisk ("you") and Sans every chapter, btw. Just a little warning. Now, I'm trying to keep as true to character as I can here, but please keep in mind that this is my first Undertale fanfic, so some things may be a little shaky at first.
> 
> I'm aiming to update more frequently, but IRL stuff has kept me from writing as much as I would like. So until then, updates will be every two weeks!
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed this little chapter!


	3. Bad Memories Make For One Hell of a Party, Don't They?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been two months since the monsters announced their return to the Surface, and Frisk is seeing more familiar faces than they’d like to be as a result.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll proofread and fix errors in this chapter in the near future. My internet at home isn't working so I haven't really had a chance to edit and fix spelling/grammar mistakes.

_Darkness swirled around you in an empty, indistinguishable mess of disoriented senses. The hazy crackle of white noise whispered in your ears. A bizarre, grid-like formation of green energy criss-crossed around you, and you could not quite put a finger on your actual location at the moment. Everything seemed muted. It felt like cotton had been stuffed inside your skull,  like someone was screaming at you from behind thick glass. The usual presence you had grown accustomed to feeling during your adventures across many timelines was fleeting here. You didn't really care whether or not it bothered to come back, though it admittedly left you feeling quite isolated._  
  
_You locked your eyes onto a small, red, fluttering thing floating before you with an odd sense of detachment. The shape was definitely a heart - but not a real, human one. More like the kinds people put on letters or Valentine's cards. It was like you were watching what occurred through a television screen, despite the anxiety and pain it bore flooding through various spots of your body with every last pulse the little, cartoon-y heart gave. A hot, burning itch sprung up behind your eyes._  
  
_Before you, an enormous figure lay kneeling, posture slumped, tired, and hurt. The creature was larger than any human you had ever met, towering several feet above the height of an average man. The wide, barreled chest was plated in impressive armor, and a long, sweeping cloak hung from the beast's shoulders. What you could see of the creature's actual body (namely, their hands and head) was coated in a medium-length layer of white fur which looked incredibly soft to the touch. From his rounded muzzle, hung a mighty beard, light blonde in color. A set of handsome horns arced above his head, framing around a small crown that proudly showed off his status. The man-goat-like being clutched a massive arm, thicker than your own body, around his stomach, face grimacing in pain. He breathed deeply, but heavily. Kind, dark eyes were slightly unfocused._  
  
_There was a sad, yet understanding sense of acceptance in his gaze._  
  
_King Asgore Dreemurr, Ruler of the Kingdom of Monsters, on his knees before the power and determination of a single, eight-year-old human child._  
  
_You wanted to speak, but your throat closed up with emotion. You tried to sign, but your hands were trembling too violently to form the words your mouth could not. Asgore smiled at you, his expression strained and exhausted. After another moment, his weapon - a trident even more massive than he, colored the same red as your anxiously fluttering soul - dissipated into thin air. Asgore was spent, and the energy and magic it took to keep the weapon manifested had become too much for him to bear._  
  
_He seemed to notice the watery sheen in your eyes, for his smile grew softer still - almost fatherly, in appearance. "Do not fret, small one," he soothed, voice hushed and consoling; the tone made your stomach wrench with self-loathing, "I do not blame you for this. It is my fault you were forced to Fight. I did not give you... any other choice..."_  
  
_His posture slumped further, and you could have sworn his fur seemed more... hazy, than before. You wanted to apologize. You wanted to help him, to heal him, but you had used all of your items in the fight, for your own wounds. And even then, your HP was still frighteningly low. You had long since lost count of the amount of times you'd been forced to start over, your soul being shattered in battle._  
  
_Now you were victorious._  
  
_It was an awful feeling._  
  
_The hazy appearance gradually began to spread over Asgore's body, and the edges of his robes were beginning to dissolve. Dusty residue started to fall from his pelt, and the tears finally worked their way to your lashes. You did not deserve his comfort, nor his understanding. You were not worthy of that kind, fatherly smile. In fact, you hated that smile. The one you most certainly did not deserve to be the recipient of._  
  
_"Child..." the great monarch spoke, his voice sounding harsh and winded, "If I may say it... you look very similar... to someone that I once knew." His sentences were beginning to slow, the words broken apart, as he paused to take deep, steadying breaths. "Please... tell me... What is your name?"_  
  
_With shaking hands, you finger-spelled your name to him. He smiled again, and you barely managed to stop yourself from cringing at the genuine expression. Your tummy lurched with dread and nausea as the points of Asgore's horns crumbled away into grayish powder._  
  
_"'Frisk'..." he repeated aloud, as if whispering a prayer, "Ah... that means 'joyful', does it not?" You nodded, teary-eyed, in response. "Well then, child... let us not forget about your namesake... please do not cry, Frisk..." His words only made the tears fall faster. "Please, Frisk... it is all right."_  
  
_You shook your head vehemently in denial. Because everything was most certainly not 'all right'. This was the farthest from 'all right' things could be. Why did Asgore have to destroy your option of Mercy? You could have been friends! You would have been willing to find a way to break the Barrier, and still keep your soul. You were willing, even, to partake in some of Alphys' Determination experiments, if that was what it took!_  
  
_Why?_ Why _? Why why_ why **why** _?!_  
  
_"Frisk..." You were beginning to regret telling Asgore your name. Hearing him murmur it so delicately, as if to his own child, was almost more than you could bear. "Frisk, child, please... Use this opportunity to your advantage...! Use my soul to... return to the Surface... Go back to your family, where you... belong."_  
  
_You didn't_ want _to go back anymore! You didn't have anywhere to go up there! God, why didn't you just stay with Toriel in the Ruins? Or in Snowdin, with Sans and Papyrus? You could have stayed behind with Napstablook in Waterfall, and lay on the floor with him for the rest of your natural life feeling like garbage and watching galaxies swirl before your eyes. A hiccup forced its way up your throat, and you wiped your eyes with a torn, blood-speckled sleeve. Asgore's face turned sad, and he reached out a trembling hand towards you._  
  
_"Frisk..." he whispered, and horror filled you as his fingers collapsed in the open space around them. They were quickly followed by his massive paw, and thick arm. His body was quick to fail him from there, falling into dusty piles all around him. The last thing you could make out was his reassuring, fatherly smile._  
  
_"Stay determined..."_  
  
_Asgore's body was no more than ash now, a white shape taking its place. It looked like an upside-down heart. His soul. It drifted towards you, trembling, as if the mighty, fallen King was still conscious, still corporeal, urging the delicate inverted heart to keep it together just a_ little _while longer as it came to rest in your shaking fingers. Your hands cupped it close, softly and securely._  
  
_Without another thought, you jolted from where you had fallen to your knees, and ran like a madman for the Barrier. Somewhere deep inside, you could have sworn there was an enraged scream. Something in your mind registered coming across Flowey for the briefest of moments. He was offering some kind of deal, to give you a "better ending", whatever that meant. He sounded frantic, angry, like some kind of master plan was suddenly destined for failure, and the bargain would be just enough to stall, for  things to fall into place. But you did not stop. You mindlessly dodged small, white projectiles as they were shot after you with Flowey yowling in fury._  
  
_The iridescent sheen of the Barrier became brighter, more concentrated as you came close, holding Asgore's trembling soul as tightly to your chest as you dared. The walls pulsed with something was wasn't quite light, nor darkness, but an odd..._ something _, caught in between._  
  
_You had breached the Barrier, and surged at a full run from the tunnel entrance, into the golden twilight shining outside. The sun streaked its canvas in deep, dark red as it sank lower, as you fled the forest surrounding Mt. Ebott. Away from the Underground, from the friends you had made, with the crumbling soul of the Monster King still pressed against your chest._

* * *

  
The sunlight was grating as your eyes flickered open wearily. The nest of bedding and cushions was haphazardly tossed from their original places around you, and you shivered as a chilly draft worked its way through makeshift curtains hung over the windows. Groaning wearily, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes with slightly-shaky hands. Stray blankets had coiled themselves around your waist and legs, and pillows had long-since been kicked out from under you, if the lingering stiffness in your back and neck were anything to go by. There was an odd, sore tickle in your throat.  
  
It had been _that_ dream again - or, perhaps 'memory' would be a better term for it. Considering. That particular one always had you tossing and turning throughout the night, and waking up in a cold, shaken sweat. Just like now. It wasn't often you dreamed - and when you did, they were usually nightmares - but it was even _less_ common to be dreaming of _then_. Back when you'd fled the mountain, and left all the monsters stranded underground.  
  
Well, until that _True Pacifist_ child freed them. Not that you resented that the monsters were finally free.  
  
It was just the idea of them cozying up to all the friends _you_ had made _years_ before they even set foot underneath that mountain that irked you. But... then again... friends didn't exactly go around... making promises, being besties, sharing spaghetti and burgers, and then murdering the King and hightailing it out of there, now did they?  
  
Despite all of that, the thought of a plate of specially-made spaghetti or a hot, somewhat greasy burger made your stomach rumble. A hand rested over your empty belly, while a hushed sigh escaped your nose. You frowned and sat up straight. It was too early for this crap...  
  
But, crap or not, you needed to eat, and your snack-rations were dismally low. You'd managed to swipe a nice collection of chips, breakfast bars, and other small, packaged snacks from various bags a week ago while traversing the parking lot of a grocery store. You weren't proud of it - those people had used their hard-earned money to pay for those treats - but you were getting desperate at this point. It'd been nearly two months since the monsters first went public with their return to the Surface, and with that, came a newfound sense of freedom and adventure in their magically-infused souls. The city you were staying in was one of those closest to the expanding village (suitably named "Ebott", for obvious reasons) near the mountain.  
  
That meant there were a lot of familiar faces traversing the streets these days. Just two days ago, you nearly ran straight into a small group of Froggits hopping along the sidewalk. You recognized one or two of them from the Ruins, but thankfully you had managed to duck out of sight before _they_ could recognize _you_. After the rather... underhanded departure, both from the Ruins and the Kingdom, you doubted any monster would be feeling especially friendly towards you. All you could do was pray to whoever may be listening that no-one like Napstablook or - god forbid - Undyne came across you any time soon. You'd spent enough time in their company as an eight-year-old, and you doubted five years would change your appearance enough to keep them from remembering you.  
  
Standing up from your bed, you stumbled over to where your clothes for the day were laying, and quickly changed into them. Today's outfit was a patchy, blue T-shirt, jeans with large holes in the knees and on the inside of one thigh, and a jacket (you had found some old clothes in a garbage sack sitting next to one of those Goodwill donation thingies - which was awesome, because your other stuff was more than a little ratty). The jacket was black with a white-threaded pattern stitched into it, taking up the appearance of some kind of miscellaneous insignia. You loved it, because it had a large hood, and it was lined with a silky-smooth material designed to insulate heat. Plus, there were little holes in the ends of the sleeves you could slip your thumbs through; it helped keep your wrists from getting cold when you wore gloves.  
  
Before zipping up the jacket, you kissed your hand and set it on the pillowcase that held your keepsake box. _See you later today,_ you mentally promised.  
  
Bypassing breakfast, your feet headed down the long, overgrown drive towards the inner city. You decided to wander about town for a little while today before making any sort of game-plan - you had no doubt options would be very limited today. The weekend had just gone by, so most of the dumpsters in town had been emptied a day or two before. And you didn't dare go back to the part of the city where that faceless, kind-hearted employee had given you a burger and fries just yet. Like the monsters flitting about downtown, you didn't want to risk any of the humans recognizing you, as well. If that particular employee had even seen your face, to begin with. But it was better safe than sorry.  
  
Maybe there were a few early-morning shoppers to be caught unawares...?  
  
No- no, wait, nevermind. Last time you went rifling through someone else's groceries this early, they had nearly spotted you. It was decided the best time to go was in early-to-mid-afternoon, after that particularly heart-stopping occurrence. There tended to be more eyes in the area, but that also meant there were plenty of distractions, and lots and lots of cars to hide under or behind while you waited for the perfect moment.  
  
You sometimes went 'hunting' at night, too, but preferred not. It was creepy, being in a store parking lot by yourself with nothing but streetlamps and sleepy shoppers. Plus, that seemed to be the time where people in this place liked to buy more... adult things. You'd accidentally mistaken alcohol for water, soda, or other such things more than once, and you'd made enough condom-balloon-animals in five years to open your own balloon-petting zoo (you'd usually been after something else in those bags, and didn't realize there were unopened boxes of them hidden at the bottom. Whoops).  
  
Actually, in a way, you kind of had. One of the empty guest rooms was filled with the latex animal figures. You kind of just... kept them in there until they popped or deflated over time.  
  
But hey, sometimes _those_ bags had lovely, scented candles in them, too, which was nice. It was light, warmth, and something to cover up the mildew-and-wet-wood smells all in one. Sometimes you found lighters, matches, and cigarettes too - you liked to light them up, and make messy ash-doodles by smearing the ends on walls of rooms you didn't really use. Like the balloon-animal room. They didn't work as well as crayons, pencils or markers, but they were better than nothing. You didn't come across drawing materials very often, and when you did, they were usually at the end of their artistic lifespan.  
  
Anyways. Cigarette-drawings and scented candles aside, you knew you needed to try and get _something_ remotely edible today, maybe tomorrow. Temperatures were quickly dropping this past month, and the colorful leaves of autumn were blackened by morning frosts as winter took the world within its icy claws. And winter was always the most difficult time of the year. People stayed bundled up in their homes a lot more, and though you absolutely adored the snow, the footprints you left behind made things difficult when it came to getting away with thievery unnoticed. Plus, y'know, it was flipping _cold_. No matter how many blankets you dared to pin over the windows, the snow-melt and bone-numbing winds had you shivering nearly twenty-four-seven. With or without candles.  
  
Your belly gave another impatient snarl, and you absently patted it through your hoodie's pockets, mentally urging it to quiet down a little. Rough estimate said it was about eight in the morning. Give it an hour or two, and then you'd sneak off to the nearest store and stake out the area some. There was a nasty sleet storm and dropping temperatures predicted to happen within the next few days (courtesy of a discarded newspaper you'd gotten your hands on yesterday). Everyone would be out and about, trying to get their errands out of the way for the roads froze over too badly. Errands, such as grocery shopping.  
  
But until then, you had free reign. You considered going to the city park, but ultimately decided against it. _Too cold out._  
  
_I wonder... is the library open this early?_

* * *

  
Not many people were in the building at the time you entered - the clock said it was a little past 8:30AM. Other than an older, hook-nosed attendant sitting at the front desk (she had sniffed in disdain when she saw you - probably disapproving of your ratty appearance), there were only two or three others milling around by the computers. A library card was something you lacked, unfortunately, so those were off-limits to you, seeing how one was needed to log on. But you still liked to spend from of your free-time in here, reading. It was nice and warm inside, as well, which was a plus. Usually you ended up in the "fiction" section of the building, but your feet felt drawn to other part of the library today.  
  
Wandering a little aimlessly, your tattered sneakers padded their way towards the back of the building, to a smaller, somewhat disused section of bookshelves. The lighting was less impressive, and the air smelled of dust and old paper and ink. A simple, wooden shelf that rose just above your head was marked with an equally-simple, paper tag, labelled as " _Classics_ ". The spines of the books looked worn, and the covers dusty. As if many of them had not been picked up in a very long time.  
  
One in particular caught your eye - maybe it was the title, or the vast size of the volume; it nearly matched an encyclopedia in thickness, and an engraving on the spine read: " _Monsters, Myths, and Folklore_ ".

  
Curiously, you pulled it out, and waddled over to the nearest table, setting it down on top. Settling in a chair, you gently brushed the gathered residue from the cover, and found your eyes widening some at the image on its front. It looked like an old drawing of a mountain, with four symbols in the corners; the upper right and lower left having cartoon-ish hearts, while the other two depicting an upside-down version of said hearts.  
  
At the mountain's center, the cover held an indentation of the Delta Rune.  
  
Jaw dropping in surprise, you opened the book. Its old, leather spine creaked in protest. It... certainly seemed interesting. Bypassing the introduction, you skipped about a dozen pages into the text, to the first official chapter. Mildly intrigued, you skimmed the words, finding a few eye-catching snippets here and there. Oddly enough, what you saw, you more-or-less already knew. The book described what the author assumed souls were - although the words were obviously biased, continuously writing the whole thing off as a " _superstitious shtick_ "; it touched bases on an assumed barrier over the 'Forbidden Mountain', said to be put there by humans to trap the " _mythological creatures under the earth's surface_ ".  
  
A flash of the Pacifist child's face came to mind, and you promptly shoved those thoughts away before you got a headache.  
  
The novel also went over many differences between the two species. How monster bodies weren't nearly as organic as human bodies were - that they appeared to be made out of something " _ethereal_ ”, whatever that meant. Meanwhile humans were a confusing mess of blood, bones, skin and biology. It even cataloged some of the supposed war between humans and monsters, which was surprising, in itself. The only differences here being, everything written was believed to be an old legend. Nothing but stories.  
  
You were tempted to go back a read through the entire volume. It was interesting, seeing such history printed in the winning side's perspective. Even if said point-of-view was horribly slanted, and considered monsters as stuff of myth and legend (boy, was _this_ author in for a nasty shock!). However, looking at the clock, you were disappointed to find time to do so had gone away from you; you'd already spent a fair hour or so skipping around chapters. It would take you about... thirty, maybe forty minutes to walk down to the grocery store, along with who _knew_ how much waiting, to find an opportunity to snag enough from unaware shoppers.  
  
...God, that sounded so... so _underhanded_. You absently mused on what Toriel would have said to you, if she knew what you were thinking. The thought of the kind, gentle goat-monster made your heart twinge with guilt.  
  
A small tickle in your throat made you cough; you tried to quiet it with your elbow, and it made your esophagus sting. Was it just you, or was it getting a little warm in here?  
  
Looking around, you noticed the library was more filled than when you'd first come in. There were a couple more workers at the front desk, as well, who seemed remotely nicer than the older woman who had been sitting there earlier. Maybe you could slip the tome under your clothes, and no-one would- _No, stop right there, Frisk!_ you scolded yourself mentally, _Food is one thing. You don’t **need** a book_.  
  
Before the thought could develop any further, you promptly flipped the volume shut, and stood up from your seat, headed for the exit. There was a long, chilly walk and potential food awaiting you at the nearest supermarket. It would be foolish to dawdle for something like reading a book (no matter how interesting it may or may not have been).  
  
Briefly, you found yourself wondering how much the True Pacifist knew about monster lore. Surely being an ambassador _had_ to require at least basic knowledge about the history of those she represented? Maybe she had gone to the Librarby in Snowdin to study, or perhaps Toriel had read her stories from one of her many books? She probably read her _child_ more than just history. The goat-monster had to be doting on that _precious_ little savior twenty-four-seven - baking pies together, reading her stories, singing her lullabies before she fell asleep in a warm, comfy bed... Finding new favorite bug-hunting spots up on the Surface around the monster settlement...  
  
The Underground’s very own Angel to cherish and praise; an entire _civilization_ heeding to their beck-and-call, living a cushy life with lots of food and warmth and love while _you_ were hunkered down in a frozen, rotting house and- _!_  
  
...  
  
Stop it. Just... stop.  
  
You had no right to be so upset over the fact that a little human girl had found herself a home and a family. She had been merciful, and brave, setting the monsters free. You murdered their king, and ran off. You were bitter and you knew it, but a small piece of you still felt happy for the child. She had found - _earned_ something - that you had left behind. Yes, there had been remorse, but it would have been easy for you to hop back down that hole in the mountain. Even if you weren’t as welcome there, you _could have gone back and helped them_.  
  
But you didn’t, and now you were resenting someone who had been far more selfless than you. Someone who probably didn’t have a human family or cozy home to go back to, before stumbling into Mt. Ebott. Just like you.  
  
And now she had the happiness and love she deserved. So what was the point in working yourself up about it? That was all taken beyond your reach _years_ ago. Your moment had come, and now it was gone.  
  
It’s not like you really deserved it, anyways, being the no-good, dirty monster-killer you were.  
  
You saw a semi-familiar parking lot come into view, and shook your head. As if it would fling the stray thoughts away; you did your best to keep from getting distracted, mentally chanting: _Focus, Frisk, focus!_ Because if you weren’t, you’d have one hell of a time trying to snag yourself something to eat. Eyes on the prize - you _needed_ to pay attention to what you were doing!  
  
Your rumbling tummy depended on it!  
  
Trying to stay discreet, you ducked down next to a bit of shrubbery - the parking lot had little planter-areas with flower-bushes and young trees inside, made bare by the winter cold. It would provide some mild cover - at the very least, it’d keep someone from spotting you right away, if you were careful enough. Your stomach gave an audible snarl, twinging in half-starved agony, and you pressed a cold hand to it, as if in reassurance.  
  
There were a decent amount of cars - you admired a sleek red one for a moment - and people were quickly walking in and out of the main building. During your mindless walk down, the clouds had turned a threateningly dark shade of gray, and tiny flakes of frozen water had begun to sprinkle the pavement. It made you think of Snowdin.  
  
_Focus!_  
  
You stood along the outskirts of the car lot for an unknown amount of time - maybe an hour, if you had to guess - before you deemed someone as a good enough target. An ultra-thin dusting of snow had accumulated on the ground, not enough to give away your footprints just yet. The person was rather tall, you noted - and they were carrying so many bags in their  arms (they held the bags to their chest, rather than using the little pre-made handles, which struck you as a bit odd), their face was almost entirely obstructed. With a small thrill of anxious anticipation, you saw them making a beeline for the flashy vehicle that’d caught your eye earlier.  
  
It didn’t look like it had much trunk space, so the person would most likely have to put a majority of their items in the other seats. You could just wait for them to go around the side of the sports car, and then snag one of the bags, no problem! There were quite a few, so you doubted they’d miss one.  
  
As the person carefully deposited the load onto the asphalt (they were wearing an orange turtleneck, you noticed - it looked hand-knit and very, _very_ warm), you crept out of your branch-y cover, and dashed quietly to the side of a black Jeep, a few parking spaces down from the sports car. The person - you suspected they were male - was humming an upbeat tune to himself as he stood and adjusted a baseball cap sitting on top of his head. It was being worn backwards. A little weird to see, during this season, but it actually looked pretty good on him.  
  
You watched, daring to loop around the front of the Jeep, to crawl beneath the body of a raised, white truck. The scents of engine exhaust and gasoline stung your nose and eyes, but you sucked it up when your target started to rattle around his pockets for the car keys. Those bags were tantalizingly close now, but you didn’t dare move. Not yet.  
  
The **_bweep bweep!_** of a deactivated car alarm made you flinch in surprise, but it was replaced with excitement (and a little bit of guilt) as the tall man opened a door, and carefully began to stack the plastic bags in the backseat. There was an awful lot of rustling and clinking - boxed goods, maybe a few things in jars - which was _awesome_ because that meant you could store it for longer, without worrying about anything going bad! His back turned to you (good lord, this guy had a skinny waistline!), and you crept up on your hands and knees as he started to fiddle with something inside the vehicle. Whatever he was humming made you feel determined and energetic - you kind of wanted to sing along, actually.  
  
Quickly but carefully, you reached out from under the truck, and snagged the handles of the nearest bag with one hand, pulling up. Using the other to cradle the rest of it above the concrete, you pulled it back into your hiding spot. Something inside _clink_ ed softly, and you tried not to cringe at the sound as you backpedaled, scrambling quietly on your knees to stand out in the open again. Hearing no hints that the humming shopper had noticed, you were unable to resist taking an excited peek inside the bag (best make sure you could actually _consume_ whatever was clanking around in there).  
  
No bottles - which was good. Thin boxes of uncooked pasta circled around a couple glass jars of what appeared to be some sort of tomato sauce. Huh - maybe he had been planning on eating spaghetti for dinner tonight. Oh well, he probably had plenty of other, yummy things in all of those bags to make.  
  
You were too enamored with your observations to notice footsteps going around the truck you had hidden under.  
  
“EXCUSE ME, SMALL HUMAN! BUT IT APPEARS AS IF YOU HAVE TAKEN SOMETHING THAT DOES NOT BELONG TO YOU!”  
  
A strangled yelp le **f** t your throat at th **e** sudden, loud voice, **a** nd you whi **r** led around. Everything immediately began trembling in nothing short of pure, unadulterated _fear_ ; you’d been caught during your lollygagging! And why did that voice sound so familia-?  
  
_Oh... O-Oh, my God..._  
  
They were tall, wearing that orange turtleneck and a backwards baseball cap. They were not human.  
  
They were a _monster_.  
  
“NOW, THERE IS NO NEED TO BE AFRAID, HUMAN!” Papyrus went on, “I ASSURE YOU, THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS A VERY FORGIVING SKELETON! HOWEVER, I AM SADDENED TO SEE SUCH A TINY LITTLE HUMAN TEMPTED INTO TAKING STEPS DOWN THE PATH OF WRONGNESS! PERHAPS YOU ARE UNAWARE OF THE CONSEQUENCES FOR STEALING ANOTHER’S PASTA-PREPARING INGREDIENTS? ALTHOUGH, IF YOU ARE AS MUCH OF A SPAGHETTI ENTHUSIAST AS MYSELF, THEN PERHAPS I COULD... ALLOW YOU... TO...” The skeleton’s voice tapered off from its usual, boisterous shout, into a quieter sort of loud-speaking.  
  
You stared, unabas **h** ed, up at Papyrus’ bony fac **e** , fee **l** ing all the heat leave your own as you went **p** ale. It was hard to breathe for some reason. It felt like someone was beating you in the chest with a hammer while your pulse escalated. The monster’s kind, confused eyes roamed over your body, taking in your haggard appearance. The patchy, unwashed clothes. The sunken look your cheeks had developed over time. The way your hands clenched and unclenched around the thin plastic sack of stolen goods.  
  
A look of deep concern - maybe even fear - came over his usually-cheerful face. Some piece of you wished he’d start humming again.  
  
“...HUMAN?”  
  
You couldn’t move, couldn’t reply, or think, are hardly even _breathe_.  
  
You dropped the bag. The glass containers inside shattered. The pasta rattled and snapped. Papyrus took a startled step back.  
  
You fled.  
  
Everything blurred into a mess of cold and color and full-blown terror. You legs moved without prompting, and your sore throat made each breath feel like needles were scratching down your airways with every gasp. People shouted as you darted past them, knocking their arms to the side, nearly running into several sets of legs. Someone or other tried to ask if you were alright as you passed, but their words were lost to the wind screaming in your ears and your pulse thundering against your ribcage like a storm. The world was tilting, and the snow was falling more thickly than before. It was cold. It was scary. You silently prayed to whatever God listening that Papyrus had not taken up the initiative to follow you.  
  
Eventually the agony of breathing became too much, and your muscles were hollering for mercy from the unbearable amount of activity. Turning at random, the next thing you knew you were cowering inside a dark, dirty alleyway that smelled faintly of oil and old garbage. There was a dumpster (that explained the trash-smell), which you were huddling against.  
  
Fingers pulled at your hair. You clenched your teeth so hard it made your jaw ache. Legs folded to your chest, you made tiny rocking motions to try and calm yourself down. Flashes of confident grins and heroic poses hit your mind’s eye. Silly puzzles, the smell and taste of burnt spaghetti and overcooked sauce, battle-armor and red scarves. Gleeful chortles of “ _NYEH-HEH-HEH!_ ” and bragging exclamations of capture and being thoroughly japed came to mind. Something about a dating manual and an annoying, special-attack-stealing dog crossed your thoughts. Someone was shouting that they believed in you.  
  
You could do a bit better, even if you didn’t think so. Everyone could be good if they just tried, right? Maybe they just needed a super-cool friend to mentor them. Show them the way.  
  
**_PW-VRRRP!_**  
  
Something clattered to the ground. Another something dissolved into a fine, grayish powder, and oh, how lovely it looked, contrasted against the stark whiteness of snow. It felt funny on your skin; ticklish, almost. Soft. You almost wanted to stop and play with it for a moment...  
  
**_Determination._**  
  
Were you crying? Probably.  
  
Your head was pounding. You just wanted to sleep.  
  
So you did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile on "The Story Where Every Chapter Seems to End With a Character Falling Asleep"...
> 
> Well technically Sans didn't fall asleep, he was just about to.
> 
> Anyways. I just want you all to know that - in Frisk's case, especially - there's actually a reason for them reacting to certain situations by sleeping. I won't go into detail yet. But I want you all to know that, yes, it IS plot-related, and not the product of lazy writing. *laughs*
> 
> I had a little bit of trouble writing this one here and there, but I hope I didn't disappoint!


	4. i guess the surface isn't all it's cracked up to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After hearing of Papyrus’ encounter with Frisk, Sans starts to question if his grudge against them is reasonable or not. For now, he’s concerned, and determined to find out more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm so, so, so sorry for the huge delay in this chapter! Believe me, I've been REALLY eager to update this story. But for the past month or so, my internet's service has been... sketchy. At first, I just wasn't done with the chapter. But a night after I finished it, my internet crapped out on me, and I couldn't update! That along with busy life-stuff has made things more difficult than I'd like.
> 
> But, thankfully, it was fixed last night, and I've found the time to update now!
> 
> I'll try to get back to adding chapters every two weeks, on Wednesday. But you've all been patient with me so far, so I figured I'd post this one now. I tried to make it longer than usual to make up for the wait.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“SANS! Get your lazy butt over here and _HELP ME ALREADY_!”  
  
Said skeleton blinked one eye open, taking a moment to survey the area. It had started to snow maybe an hour ago, and a generous layer of the frozen stuff had already coated the ground in a few beautiful inches of icy flakes. It reminded Sans of a much larger, brighter, and vastly more expansive version of Snowdin Town. It was soothing, in a way (even if it’d sent him into a momentary panic, to wake up from a nap and find everything looking _incredibly_ similar to his old home. He’d been _convinced_ Shiloh had somehow found out how to RESET; he was just now starting to release the last bits of residual panic from then). The cry for help had come from Undyne, who was currently being tag-teamed by Alphys, Shiloh, and some monster kid they’d befriended Underground somewhere along the walk between Snowdin and Waterfall. He couldn’t remember their name, so until he found it out, their name was just... Monster Kid. Or ‘MK’ - they seemed to like that version a lot more.  
  
Anyways. Once Shiloh saw their favorite short skele-bro was awake, they’d immediately pestered him to go outside with them. And when he said ‘pestered’, he _meant_ pestered. Now, don’t get him wrong, Sans loved that kid to the moon and back, but once she had her mind set on a certain something, she was not going to take “ _no_ ” for an answer. Namely, anything that involved Shiloh spending time with her family and friends.  
  
And God help you if you tried to take that opportunity away from her.  
  
Simply put: the kid was pretty damn possessive over her loved ones. He didn’t really blame her, though. Now, he mightn’t have known much about Shiloh’s life before she Fell, but he wasn’t dense. Only an idiot of the _highest_ degree would have been able to miss the obvious signs that her home-life before Falling hadn’t been the greatest. Shiloh hadn’t spent nearly as much time as the Other Kid beneath the mountain, but there were some pretty familiar red-flag instances that he’d come to notice in a lot of the kids who’d Fallen these past few decades. Maybe even centuries (hey, he and Papyrus were _monsters_ , and skeletons, on top of that. Their bodies didn’t age the same way human bodies did).  
  
Quiet, at first. Reserved. Usually holding something they could use in a defensive and/or offensive sense. Most of those "weapons" and "armors" were linked to the children's lives on the Surface - something they'd enjoyed and held dear (Shiloh's had been a sketchbook and a very pointy mechanical pencil). After leaving the Ruins, there were one of two ways those kids would react: they'd either jump and flinch at every sound or quick movement around them, or would walk around calm, cool, and collected. As if they'd stumbled upon their own, personal kingdom to rule.  
  
A lot of monsters tended to disappear with the ones who had _that_ particular reaction.  
  
Well, until the Other Kid had come along. They were one hell of an anomaly - gladly tossing everything Sans liked to think he knew about the way humans acted in the proverbial trash heap. He couldn't recall any of the Fallen Humans liking to screw with time quite as much as they did. It had thrown him for one heck of a loop, the first few times around.  
  
Hell, it _still_ kind of did.  
  
The first time Sans had watched the Other Kid enter Snowdin Forest, they'd looked terrified. Glancing over their shoulder every few seconds, checking out every little thing - multiple times, even, as if they expected something to change. Quietly narrating their findings under their breath, like they were reading off a script. Sans could remember the sinking feeling in his gut when he'd drawn close for the trademark whoopee-cushion-handshake, and caught the faintest scent of dust and magic coming off their clothes. The cold glint that lit up in their eye. The emotionless facade that suddenly fell across their previously-anxious face. He never thought he'd see the day where an obnoxiously bright-colored toy or an old hair ribbon would look as threatening as they had in that exact moment.  
  
Next thing Sans knew, Snowdin Town had just about run empty, and Papyrus was reduced to nothing more than a pile of dust and a dirty, red scarf with a slice running down the center on one side. Sans' nonexistent guts still churned at the thought. Decapitation wasn't the most pleasant of ways to go - it usually didn't kill someone _immediately_ \- or at least, for monsters, it didn't. Chop off a human's head, and it'd all be over in a disgusting mess of blood and what have you. They'd croak within minutes - seconds, even. Take off a monster's head? Well...  
  
Seeing as how monsters' bodies were mostly made of magic, they could actually _survive_ decapitation - for a little while, at least. If the Soul had enough of a will to stick around - if only to see the one who had killed them - it would, delaying the body's de-materialization just long enough for a few parting words, perhaps. That's how injury and death worked for all monsters.  
  
In Undyne's case, it'd left her simultaneously melting as she fought the human, before the freak had finally managed to finish the warrior off.  
  
But it wasn't... the initial taste for genocide that had thrown Sans off so badly. There were plenty of Fallen kids that had killed off their fair share of monsters Down There - asides from Shiloh, he couldn't remember a single one who hadn't taken out at least one or two during their travels - so this Other Kid was no different, right?  
  
Wrong.  
  
The first time they'd gone through, they hadn't just murdered Toriel, Undyne and his brother. No, they had killed **_e v e r y o n e_**. Every single monster, from the Froggits, to Shyren, the Royal Guards, Alphys, Papyrus, even Sans, himself. Sans didn't know what happened after he'd finally kicked the bucket, but if the little serial murderer hadn't Spared even a frightened Whimsun, he had no doubt they'd finished off Asgore with no problem. He wasn't sure if anyone involved with the evacuation had managed to survive - he didn't have much hope about that scenario - and he had the sinking feeling that Alphys had... well, let's just say that he hadn't seen hide nor hair of her after Undyne and Mettaton had been wiped out. And he hadn't been able to muster up the courage to check the Dump, or bust down the doors into her Lab to check.  
  
But he digressed.  
  
Despite all of that, it wasn't the genocide run that left Sans feeling chilled to the bone. It was _every single timeline_ that came after it. The timelines where they decided to conduct their own... _experiments_ , as it were. Where the Other Kid played every last inhabitant of the Underground like a fucking harp, himself included.  
  
Sometimes, they'd only kill the monsters that encountered them directly. Others, they just attacked the ones like Papyrus, Tori and himself - 'Boss Monsters', he believed the term was (even if Tori and Asgore had been the only two who were _actual_ Bosses, species-wise). During one of their runs, Sans remembered the bitterness and utter _loathing_ he'd felt when the Other Kid had shown Mercy to every monster... besides his brother, that is.  
  
Sick as it may sound, he wouldn't deny he had one hell of a time sending that _freak_ into oblivion. At least it'd triggered another RESET. He had gotten Pap back. And Sans _still_ had him back, thank God.  
  
" _SAAANS_!"  
  
The skeleton blinked, and finally sat up in his snowbank, a chilly, yet comfortable napping spot he'd come to enjoy. His usual grin turned more genuine (and mischievous) at the sight of Undyne being charged at by two monsters and a human - all of whom were half her size - wielding snowballs and wicked smirks. Even Alphys seemed to be in the mood for trouble-making. Sans snorted under his breath as she ran by. "yeah?"  
  
"HELP ME!"  
  
"aww, but you look like you're havin' so much fun without me, undyne. i don't wanna break the atmosphere, or anything."  
  
" _I'M_ gonna break _YOU_ if you don't get off your ass and- _!_ "  
  
The fish-warrior was cut off as a well-aimed snowball (courtesy of Shiloh) soared through the air, and spattered against the back of her finned head. Sans snickered at the expression on her face. "heh. nice hit, kiddo."  
  
He paused at the look Undyne sent him. It was a little bit... murdery.  
  
"gee, talk about an _icy_ expression. i'd say you looked a little hot n' bothered by that hit, but i think _cold-blooded_ is more your type. maybe you guys should _snow_ down a bit and take a sec to _chill_ out. aw, c'mon, undyne, don't give me the _cold shoulder_ \- you don't sashi _me_ judging anybody for their _flaky_ snowball-fighting. but i gotta tell ya, three-against-one kinda guarantees you've got _snow_ chance of winning-"  
  
" ** _NNGAAAAAAAAHH_**!"  
  
A literal boulder of snow descended upon Sans. He looked up at it, grin tightening a little as the magnificent, lopsided orb of hard-packed whiteness blotted out the sun. The flakes glinted like cold stars as the shadow casting over his body grew steadily darker. Sans closed his eyes and held out his arms, as if to embrace the enormous, car-sized lump hurtling towards him, still grinning. No point in trying to outrun the inevitable, he supposed...  
  
Next thing he knew, Sans was lying flat on his back under a pile of snow. A faint, blueish light filtered down to him as sunlight tried to pierce through his cold blanket. Only his feet were left uncovered (his slippers had been knocked off by the force of the snow-boulder's hit). He heard Shiloh calling out his name in concern, asking if he was alright.  
  
Sans wiggled his toes in response, and heard her laugh.  
  
_worth it._  
  
The skeleton chuckled quietly to himself, and let his eyes drift close. Moving the snow would take too much effort on his part. He'd just take a nap and wait until someone dug him out. Or for the snow to melt. Whichever came first.  
  
...probably the latter.  
  
He was just about to let unconsciousness take him, when a vibration in the earth beneath him caught the skeleton by surprise. In the distance, the purring of an engine caught his metaphorical ear. His eyesockets opened in surprise and concern. He knew that sound anywhere - only Papyrus would be willing to drive around in this snowfall. A sense of foreboding tightened against his sternum. Something was wrong. Sans could feel it in his bones.  
  
Not bothering to expend the energy it'd take to dig himself out, Sans tapped into his magic. His left hand and eye lit up with cyan light, and with a twitch of the fingers, the snowdrift had risen, and was tossed carelessly to the side (he heard a howl of fury as it plowed straight into Undyne). Sans was standing, trying to calm the feelings rising in his chest before they developed into full-blown anxiety. Papyrus' red sports car was coming closer at a speed that might have been considered reckless.  
  
Papyrus was no speed-racer when it came to driving. He was eccentric and a little airheaded and gullible. But he wasn't _stupid_ , nor careless. Recklessness was not something he indulged in often, let alone when it put someone other than himself in danger. Driving was not something he took lightly - any recklessness or lapses in attention could _easily_ end up with someone getting crushed and killed by a two-ton hunk of vehicle.  
  
The words ' _speeding_ ' and ' _driving_ ' weren't in his brother's vocabulary when they fell into the same sentence. But here he was - driving _and_ speeding while he was driving.  
  
Shit, something had happened, hadn't it?  
  
The tires of Pap's fancy car skid into the driveway of the brothers' home - slipping farther than usual from the ice and snow - and the brakes made a squealing sound that made Sans flinch. He walked briskly up to the red vehicle - barely suppressing the urge to sprint - as Papyrus killed the engine, and opened the driver's side door. And yet... he didn't step out immediately. Sans looped around the front, hearing Alphys and Undyne quickly approaching as they picked up on the sense that something was up.  
  
Sans glanced through the windshield to spy several bags of groceries in the back - a good half of them were probably pasta-based in origin (the taller brother had been experimenting with countless types of pasta ever since Shiloh had introduced Papyrus to the ever-fabled _noodle aisle_ at the store). As he passed, Sans sent his bro an easy-going smile; it nearly fell flat at the lack of one on Papyrus' face.  
  
Papyrus was _always_ smiling. No matter what the situation. He was always optimistic and encouraging and happy. But now his expression was... _fuck_ , Papyrus looked like he was about to _cry_.  
  
All Sans could do was try to keep from swarming the other - he forced the grin to stay in place, and casually leaned against the edge of the car door as Papyrus _finally_ managed to climb out of the driver's seat. He pressed a hand to the roof of the car, blinking owlishly. He almost looked... confused? Like something was... haunting him. Sans felt his breathing pick up a little at the sight of his cheerful bro looking so uncharacteristically distraught. Worrying was what Sans did, _not_ Papyrus. He should _never_ be worried, and Sans had tried his damnedest to keep it that way ever since he and Pap were baby-bones.  
  
"'sup, bro?" The words sounded more strained than Sans liked. "how'd shopping go?"  
  
Papyrus blinked, and looked down at Sans, as if he'd just noticed his brother was standing in front of him. Undyne and Alphys wandered a few feet away from the car, Shiloh and Monster Kid watching warily a few yards behind them. "S-SANS...?"  
  
Said skeleton felt sweat form on his brow at the other's tone of voice. It shook. It sounded lost. His usual shout was lowered to more of a halfhearted yell. Papyrus had never done anything that could be even remotely close to 'halfhearted' in his life. "yeah, pap...?"  
  
"SANS..." A little bit of the usual light returned to his brother's aura. It was distressed. His eyesockets seemed to widen a bit. "S-SANS! SANS, I SAW THEM! A-AT THE STORE - I, I SAW THEM - I S-SAW THEM WHEN I WAS, WH-WHEN I-"  
  
"woah, calm down a bit, ok, bro?" Papyrus sat back down in the car's seat, un-gloved hands coming to hold his head. Sans gently placed his hands on his brother's shoulders. "take a deep breath for me. can ya do that for me, pap? there ya go, easy does it... ok. now, can you tell me what happened? who'd you see?"  
  
Papyrus breathed a shaky sigh. "I... I-I SAW THE HUMAN, SANS."  
  
Unwittingly, Sans exchanged a glance with Alphys and Undyne through the car's windshield. He felt his SOUL falter with dread. Shiloh and Monster Kid had drawn closer now - the human looked deeply concerned for her friend's well-being. The shorter skeleton forced a chuckle. "well, we're kinda on the surface now, pap. there's loads of humans up h-"  
  
"NO, YOU DON'T _UNDERSTAND_ , SANS!" Papyrus snapped (which was something he never, ever did - not like this), looking up. Something froze when Sans saw tears - tinted orange by his brother's magic - cresting in Papyrus' eyesockets. 'I DIDN'T SEE _A_ HUMAN," The tears started falling down Papyrus' face, and Sans felt his grip tighten instinctively at the sight. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his brother cry... it made him want to be sick. "I SAW _THE_ HUMAN! I-I SAW _MY_ HUMAN!"  
  
Something made Sans suspect he wasn't talking about Shiloh.  
  
"THEY... THEY... O-ONLY TH-THEY LOOKED SO... S-SO... THEY LOOKED SO MUCH MORE LIKE A SKELETON THAN LIKE A FLESHY-ARMORED HUMAN IS SUPPOSED TO! THEY WERE... AND TH-THEY WERE PALE, AND W-WEARING DIRTY CLOTHES FILLED WITH HOLES, A-AND-!" Papyrus covered his mouth with a hand, hiccuping. Sans carefully brushed away some of the tears with his jacket sleeve. Seeing his brother like this made _him_ want to cry. "SANS, I SAW THEM, BECAUSE THEY... THEY TRIED TO S-STEAL FROM ME! THEY WOULD NEVER, EVER STEAL! NOT WITHOUT A GOOD REASON! THEY LOOKED SO _SCARED_ , SANS! THEY... I-I-I THINK THEY'RE IN T-TROUBLE!"  
  
Papyrus grabbed Sans' jacket with an almost desperate look on his face - and to be completely honest, that look scared the _hell_ out of him.  
  
"I... THEY RAN AWAY BEFORE I COULD STOP THEM - I-I TRIED TO LOOK, BUT I COULD NOT FIND WHERE THEY WENT! WE HAVE TO HELP THEM, SANS! WE _NEED_ TO HELP THEM! THEY'RE OUR FRIEND!"  
  
Something dark flashed across Undyne's face at that. Without a word, she turned and started to walk away, brushing past a concerned Alphys, not even glancing in her partner's direction. Sending the brother's a quick, apologetic look, the timid scientist rushed away after her girlfriend, quietly trying to get her attention. Papyrus looked even more distraught at the momentary exchange.  
  
"l-look, bro," Sans mumbled, "i dunno what we're s'posed to do. the other kid... they're gone. even if they live in that city, how are we gonna find them? what if they don't even _want_ our help?"  
  
Shiloh and Monster Kid had crept closer. Papyrus sniffed.  
  
"PLEASE, BROTHER - WE... WE HAVE TO TRY! WHAT IF THEY NEED US?" Papyrus' expression took on a distressed nuance that the shorter skeleton had never seen before. It unnerved him immensely. All he could think about doing right now was the overwhelming urge to hold his brother close, soothe him, and say everything would be alright. "WH-WHEN I SAW THEM.. I... WHEN THEY WERE IN MY PRESENCE, I-IT FELT LIKE..."  
  
There was a pause. The usually-boisterous skeleton looked to be at an honest loss for words for a moment. "IT FELT LIKE THEY WERE CALLING OUT TO SOMETHING, BUT THEY WEREN'T USING ANY WORDS. IT WAS AS IF SOMETHING HAD REACHED INSIDE OF MY RIBCAGE, AND SQUEEZED MY SOUL IN ITS HANDS. A-AND I FELT... FOR A MOMENT, IT ALMOST SEEMED LIKE I WOULD NEVER... BE HAPPY AGAIN. I FELT SO HOPELESS. S-SO... UNDETERMINED." A gaze that seemed much too intense to belong to his brother was focused on Sans. "I THINK... I-I THINK IT WAS THEIR SOUL. I DON'T KNOW HOW, BUT IT WAS CRYING FOR HELP. IT HAS _BEEN_ CALLING OUT FOR HELP. B-BUT NOBODY... NOBODY EVER CAME."  
  
Papyrus fixed his brother with those wide, watery eyes. As if silently begging with his lazy sibling to help him - to help the Other Kid - in some way. Shit, how was he supposed to refuse a look like _that_? Sans sighed, caving within moments. "fine... i'm not making any promises, here, but... i'll try looking around the city some tomorrow, 'k? see what i can dig up." Before the other could say another word, Sans added with a smile, "c'mon, why don't you go and lay down, or something? you look worn down to the _bone_."  
  
The pun was rewarded with a disgruntled scoff - not much, compared to how Papyrus usually reacted, but he'd take what he could get. Anything to bring his brother back to his old self. The fact that Papyrus had acutally agreed to _lay down and rest_ spoke wonders to how drained he truly was about this whole ordeal. Papyrus _hated_ resting - or at least, resting any more than absolutely necessary. Naps were definitely a Sans-exclusive thing. Any frame of time that could be used for doing something productive was not supposed to be wasted of trivial things like sleep.  
  
Sans watched him go, silently. His expression was calculatingly neutral, as if surveying some sort of puzzle he had never laid eyes on before. He rested an elbow on the bones of one hand, and his chin against the thumb and index finger of the others. He appeared to be in deep thought.  
  
A timid voice broke through the brief seconds of musing. Shiloh's careful voice was enough to tip Sans off that she was unsure of the upcoming words. Like she was afraid of upsetting him somehow. One of his eyes opened, and the light-pupil inside flickered in the redhead's direction. "yeah, kiddo?"  
  
Shiloh was fiddling with the fingers of her mittens, and MK was standing beside her, looking a little tense. His young, expressive face was surprisingly serious. "You're... talking about the human that Fell before me, aren't you?" she asked after a few more seconds of stalling. Sans felt a brief rush of affection for the kid. Shi' was a sharp one, that much was for sure. They hadn't spoken of the Other Kid very much; most of it consisted of brief, clipped response that left everyone feeling a little uncomfortable afterwards. Taking Sans' lack of a reply as permission to continue, she continued. "What... were they like? What did they do to you?"  
  
He blinked in mild surprise at that, not really knowing how to answer her at first. A better question may have been what _didn't_ they do to him - to _all of them_. "well, kid... that's... kind of a loaded question. they, uh..." He rubbed his cervical vertebrae with a hand, unsure of how to word himself without sounding too bitter or biased. He didn't want to scare Shiloh, but most times... even the _thought_ of that kid tended to leave a kink in his joints. "i mean, that kid did... a lot of things. a lot of them good, some of them not so much. but..."  
  
Sans blinked when Monster Kid suddenly excused themself, saying something about his mom wanting him to be home by a certain time. "Sorry, Shiloh. I'll... see you tomorrow, ok?" They left without another word. He couldn't help but notice the aggravated way their tail flicked behind them as they stalked away. Poor Shiloh looked so confused. She looked up, and gave Sans the _saddest_ pair of puppy-eyes he'd ever seen.  
  
"W-were they really that bad, Sans?"  
  
The skeleton just patted her head with a bony hand, heaving a small, tired sigh. "well, shi', i... heh. you know how you broke the barrier with that pretty little SOUL of yours?" He poked her lightly in the chest, right over where her heart lay. Shiloh giggled at the action, and gave a somewhat-wary nod. "well, five years ago, when the other kid came around, we only needed one more SOUL to break it. just like we did with you. everyone thought this kid was going to be what you are. we thought we'd finally be free..."  
  
The area of skull that made up Sans' brow knitted together with a hardly-restrained scowl. Instead, it just looked like he had a headache, or something.  
  
"only... they weren't. they crossed the barrier themselves, alone. and to cross the barrier, both a monster and human SOUL is - _was_ \- needed. so... they, uh..." Sans sighed, already feeling drained by the one-sided conversation. "they killed our king, kiddo. he was trying to take their SOUL, so everyone could be free. but the kid fought back, i guess, and they won, and... the rest is history.  
  
"so you've gotta understand why some monsters consider them a bit of a sore subject. we really thought they would be the one that let us come back to the surface. asgore was the guy that held everyone's hopes n' dreams on his shoulders. with him gone, no-one knew what to do. if your mom hadn't come back, gee, i dunno what would've happened. it was anarchy, for a little while there... there wasn't a lot of hope left..."  
  
He was trying to word this gently; Shiloh didn't know, nor did he think she'd understand, the main reasons for the grudge he held against the Other Kid. The concept of manipulation in space-time was a pretty advanced topic for a thirteen-year-old, and frankly, Sans didn't feel like reliving any of those particular memories any time soon. He'd made a promise, sort of, to his brother.  
  
Shiloh was staring at Sans, her face soft, confused, and calculative. As if trying to examine something beneath his laid-back composure. He tipped his head at them, a silent prompt for her to say what was on her mind. The redhead played with a curly strand of hair, circling it around her index finger. It was a nervous habit of hers. "kid?"  
  
"...What... What, um..." Shiloh looked away from Sans' searching eyesockets. "What is their... name? If I may ask."  
  
The question was an unexpected one. Quite literally deciding to grin and bear it, Sans sucked in a quiet breath. "fr... frisk... their name's frisk." She merely nodded, as if silently thanking him for indulging in the question. Truth be told, it was actually difficult to speak their name again after spending so long with this... this passive-aggressive resentment. "alright, bucko. i've got stuff to do, and you're lookin' _chilled to the bone_. you should go inside n' warm up."  
  
Shiloh gave his pun a rather unimpressed look, but nodded either way. Sans sent her a much more genuine grin, and rubbed her hat-covered head with a hand. She smiled back, pressing a quick kiss to the skeleton's cheekbone. "Stay safe, Sans. Will we see you and Papyrus for dinner tonight?"  
  
He shrugged with an apologetic smile. "can't say. i think paps n' i might be a couple of lazybones at home today. it's been an eventful one."  
  
She merely nodded in agreement, and gave her friend a final hug, before walking away, back towards the home she shared with Toriel. It wasn't too far off, so Sans wasn't that concerned. The kid was pretty capable. She'd be able to handle a few minutes of walking.  
  
"see you later, kid."  
  
This was going to be one long-ass day.

* * *

As it turned out, _one_ long day ended up being a _series_ of long days. Sans honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd put _this much_ time and effort into something outside of puns or pranks. But, truth be told, Papyrus' description of the Other Kid had made something in his sternum feel off-balance. Every time he pictured them, out alone in the cold, in ratty clothes, probably lonely and underfed, it... it made his nonexistent blood boil.  
  
Homelessness wasn't a foreign concept to the skeleton. There were monsters Underground who had been without homes. It was uncommon, but as the Capital grew more and more overpopulated, more people had to pack their bags and find somewhere else to live in one of the other communities Down There. Either that, or take to the streets. It wasn't too bad - most folk tended to stay in Hotland or Waterfall, given their warmer climates. But he'd come across the odd monster or two who'd tried to set up shop in Snowdin (a poor choice, really). They were usually escorted to Grillby's by yours truly, and given a couch to crash on by one person or another until they could either have a place built for them by the community, or found somewhere else to move on to in one of the more forgiving cities. The Font Brothers' home had played host to their fair share of homeless monsters before.  
  
But that's where the similarities between Underground homelessness and Surface homelessness screeched to a grinding halt. Up here, Sans quickly learned it was a dog-eat-dog world. Every man for himself. You either had to have someone to support you, be able to take care of yourself independently, or you were left to rot in an alleyway somewhere. Scrounging around for your next meal, and sneered at by the general, privileged public.  
  
There was no in-between. And hardly anyone up here seemed like they could be bothered to stick their neck out for someone else in need. No matter if they were a man, a woman... or a child.  
  
Sans had began his search in the nearest human city - a homey little place a few miles away from Ebott (apparently humans had been avoiding mountain since wartimes, so any populated areas were a fair few miles away). It reminded him of a snow-covered Capital. Like Snowdin and New Home had been meshed together into a confusing blur of activity and tall, ice-flecked buildings.  
  
Well, it probably would have held more likeness if the Capital had been crowded by judgmental, fleshy humans and had some person's trash littering every last road. The stink of car exhaust made him want to gag. How the hell could humans stand junking up their homes and cities like this? It was ridiculous! He was doing his best to keep his temper in-check, but honestly? These humans were so damn self-absorbed, pushy and just overall rude it made his marrow burn (y'know, considering he didn't have blood to boil. Heh). He'd been blatantly ignored and all but shoved aside during his investigations more times than he bothered to count. Plenty of the younger looking ones had made fun of his short stature. Hell, he'd even been mistaken for a little kid!  
  
Bless the kindness of the elderly woman who'd tried to help him find his parents, but Sans was more than capable enough to traverse the town on his own. Still though, she was nice.  
  
That, and this older woman had been the first to actually give him _information_ on the Other Kid's whereabouts. Right after she'd finished the repeated apologies, what with mistaking Sans for a kid.  
  
"it's no _big_ , miss. heh." That had made her chuckle, and Sans smiled. Not that she could really see it. Considering humans were still getting used to monsters, and he was... sort of a walking reminder of the inevitable mortality of mankind, Sans had kept his hood up the entire trip. The fur lining did wonders to hide his skeletal features. "but, actually, if i could have a sec', maybe you could help me out with something? y'see, i'm looking for this kid - they're a buddy of mine. we kinda lost contact a couple years back, but i think they might be living in this city."  
  
She graciously agreed to help if she could, and asked for a description.  
  
"well, uh, it's been awhile, so i'm not... totally sure on what they look like anymore... huh..." He tried to remember the description he'd managed to drag out of Papyrus earlier that day. "they're about... well, a little shorter than me? give or take a couple inches, maybe. long brown hair - kinda ratty, hasn't been trimmed for awhile; kinda tan skin? they like to squint their eyes a lot. usually wears sweaters - blue-and-pink stripes. ringing any bells?"  
  
When Sans finished counting the details off on his (glove-covered) fingers, and looked up, he was surprised to see the look on the woman's face. Her complexion had paled considerably, eyes wide and staring at him as if Sans were a ghost. Or, uh... a skeleton. She looked like she didn't dare to believe what was standing in front of her. Sans did a mental check to make sure he'd covered up any _obvious_ monstrous signs, and tugged at his hood self-consciously. "something wrong?"  
  
"You know them?" The unadulterated awe in the woman's voice took Sans by surprise. He raised a brow at her, tone skeptical.  
  
"uh... yeah. sorta. they stayed with my bro and i awhile back. we're um... p-pals. lost contact though. why? do you know 'em?"  
  
She pulled her winter coat around her more securely, looking conflicted. Worried. Hopeful.  
  
"They... used to visit a diner my husband and I own together. But, a few months ago, they stopped coming. I've been worried sick about the poor dear ever since, especially in this cold... I hope they're somewhere warm and have plenty to eat. An employee tried leaving something out for them one day. They took the food, but... they haven't come back." The woman discreetly wiped at her eyes, sounding near tears with worry and heartache.  
  
After some prompting, Sans got the woman to tell him all she knew about the Other Kid. How long they'd been hanging around, if she saw them elsewhere in the city, what they did when visiting the cafe' she owned, that kind of stuff. The more he listened, the more sick Sans started to feel. It felt like a knot was forming behind his sternum, making his SOUL ache with empathy and, dare he say it, _fear_ for the kid. Snoozing in the alley behind the building, digging through trash cans and dumpsters for a meal, sneaking around, looking cold and underfed...  
  
He thanked her for her time soon after the tales had been spun, and turned to walk in the opposite direction. He was stopped, however, by a quick, gentle call of " _wait_ ". Sans glanced over his shoulder, curiously, feeling a little aggravated that he had to pause. He needed to get some more information, and he needed to do so _quickly_.  
  
"yeah?"  
  
She hesitated a moment, and Sans grit his teeth to keep from snorting with impatience.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
_what?_ He hadn't been expecting that. "the name's sans."  
  
"And the child's name?"  
  
"...frisk."  
  
She smiled at him then, almost looking relieved. Sans felt a twinge of uncertainty. His feet were itching to move. "Thank you, Sans. I hope that you find Frisk soon. Please help them, alright?"  
  
He just nodded. "i will," he promised, before quickly striding down the sidewalk. It was taking every last ounce of self-control he had not to break into an all-out sprint. He wanted to get some more information on this. He _needed_ to find something out - a lead, hopefully - that could help him find this kid before something bad happened to them.  
  
Had the kid been living like this ever since they left? Or was this a recent development? God, he hoped it was the latter. He wasn't the spiritual type, but Sans prayed he'd figure something out soon. He didn't know much about the Surface's seasons, but if Shiloh's word on the matter were any jurisdiction, then the next couple months would be hell for the kid to go through.  
  
Sans paused a moment, breathing out a heavy sigh as a light snowfall began to pickup. His breath clouded in the air like fog, and it left a chilled wetness to the fur lining in front of his teeth. The skeleton glanced up at the sky. There was a small point in the gray cloud-cover above that seemed paler than the rest. The sun was probably hiding behind there. It had to be a little past noon. A chill was beginning to seep into the air as the shortened winter day aimed to draw to a close. He rubbed his cervical vertebrae, eyes closing with a strained sigh.  
  
His qualms with the kid about what had happened seemed more insignificant with every passing second.  
  
Right now, Sans just hoped they were okay. Or, at the very least, _alive_. He sighed again.  
  
"frisk... god, kid, what's the surface done to you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not certain if I'm liking the "all caps" dialogue for Papyrus anymore... might consider changing the style. Maybe... just a lot of exclamation marks, but still using all-caps for extra-exciting situations? I dunno. *laughs*
> 
> Hopefully everything goes well - lots of windstorms this week, and the assurance of power in my house is a little iffy. Seeing that nothing goes wrong, you all should have a new chapter on the 30th of March!
> 
> Who knows, if I finish early, I may just upload it next Wednesday. *shrugs*
> 
> Thank you again for your patience, and for all the kudos and kind comments!


	5. Maybe Falling Asleep in the Snow Wasn't a Good Idea...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cold of winter proves to be just as unforgiving as Frisk remembers, and with some unexpected complications, things just got a whole lot scarier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning beforehand: things get a tad crazy/confusing towards the end of this one; some of it could possibly be seen as distressing. It really depends on the person.
> 
> I hope you'll forgive the disorganization of my writing. I was trying to convey a few things through how I wrote it, but there's only so many ways you can do that, without dimming down the full impact of said events on a character, y'know? Hopefully I'll be able to reiterate and/or go over some of those things in future chapters, and it'll clear up any questions.
> 
> ~
> 
> Apologies if this chapter seems a little slow/ramble-y. It's more of a filler/transition chapter, than anything.

When you had woken up, it had been **cold**. Bone-numbing cold. It felt like you'd passed out in a freezer. A few stray snowflakes clung to your eyelashes, and your muscles were stiff and sore. What... what had happened?

After a brief, groggy glance around, details slowly started to trickle back to you. There had been running involved, if the dry, painful itch in your throat and slight wheeze to your breaths were any clue. Or was that from something else? There was a wet cough, and you could feel the build-up of phlegm in your throat. Your sinuses were having a heyday with whatever it was that was going on. It was odd to realize that, despite the three-inch blanket of snow that had come to cover the ground, you felt oddly... warm. Your body was weak, chilled beyond the ability to shiver. Everything felt like it was being viewed through a hazy fog, and breathing was more difficult than you last remembered.

The alleyway you had passed out in was dark, but the snow had (thankfully) stopped falling. Gentle shafts of moonlight made the snow glitter like sugar crystals, and had it not been for the horrible aches and pains, you might have taken a moment to sit and admire it. The dumpster you huddled against had created a minor barrier between your thirteen-year-old self and the windy snowstorm, so only a light dusting of the icy flakes had managed to land on you. Thank god the jacket you wore that day was meant to insulate heat. Thing **s** pr **o** bably would have **b** een much worse off, h **a** d it not been for the cover it offere **d**.

When you tried to stand up, it was as if your legs were nothing more than blocks of frozen meat, stilted and tied off from your pelvis. They felt awkward and clunky, like you weren't actually in control of them. You were too cold.

It took a few minutes, but with some clumsy stumbling about, and using the dumpster for leverage, you were able to rise to your feet, and stay that way long enough to get the blood flowing again. The resulting pins-and-needles sensation sent you back down to your knees in pain; it felt the way television static looked when there was no reception. You weren't sure how long you spent crouched down like that, but you _did_ know that you were grateful when the sensation faded away. Another couple of minutes passed as you took some cautious, experimental steps.

Reassured that your body wasn't about to suddenly give out, you huddled yourself up in the jacket best you could, and left the alleyway. You squirmed in place while you walking - rolling shoulders, tensing your arms, fisting your hands, and whatnot - trying to warm up skin and muscle, and hoping the mild exertion would produce a little extra heat. It worked to a degree, thank goodness. You could feel the beginnings of shivers starting to roll down your back as your body was tempted into trying to heat itself up again. The feeling had never been more welcome.

The pace you took was brisk, and you prayed that time would pass quickly. All you wanted to do right now was light up a few candles back at home and curl up inside your nest of blankets and pillows. You were sniffling, cold, and your throat was aching badly. In the five years on your own, you couldn't remember many times where you'd been this hungry. Hopefully there would still be a snack or two to have back home... the bag you had tried to steal from Papyrus had been left behind...

Your steps faltered a moment, and air hitched painfully in your throat. It made you give a few, harsh coughs.

Oh, god, you... you had tried to steal from _Papyrus_. He knew where you were now - or at the very least, which human city you were in!

 _Maybe not,_ a little voice countered as you tried to soothe yourself. _He knows he saw you at the store, but he doesn't know where you are exactly. For all he knows, it was a freak coincidence and you could be living in a city hours from here. He might not have even recognized you!_

That last part was definitely wishful thinking. There was no point in denying the hesitant, fearful recognition you'd seen in the skeleton's face when he'd stopped to actually _look_ at you. Papyru **s** had kn **o** wn he wa **s** talking to the human he had fought, **c** aptured, fought **a** gain, and late **r** w **e** nt on a **d** ate with. The one who called him nearly every time they had entered a new section of the Underground, just to hear what he had to say. The one that he'd helped through different puzzles. His first friend, asides from Sans and Undyne. A friend that had murdered his king, and run off five years ago.

What if he told the others about seeing you? Did he even talk to the other monsters you'd befriended? There was no way for certain you could know. You had no doubt he'd tell his brother about the encounter; Papyrus told Sans everything. It didn't take a genius to figure that much out. Oh, _crap_ , what if he reported your whereabouts to Undyne?

The idea made you feel more scared than you would have cared to admit.

The trip home went by quickly after that. It was spent in a fit of unreasonable anxiety. Suddenly, there was an enemy hiding in every shadow. Each corner you turned was concealing someone laying in wait, eager to beat you into submission. Every last sound made you jump, because your mind was trying to say it could be one of the many monsters living mere miles away, come to reap your SOUL out of vengeance. The driveway that led up to your home was especially torturous, considering the foliage bordering it was overgrown, and the gravel crunched beneath your boots with each step you took. The adrenaline had done wonders with warming you up again, but the desire to flee was nearly overwhelming. You didn't trust yourself to start running - it would only bring attention to you, had anyone _actually_ been waiting to ambush you.

By the time you'd gotten upstairs to your blanket-nest, you were twitchy and drained, despite having just woken up from nearly an entire day's worth of sleeping. For some odd reason, you felt the urge to start crying. The tickle in your throat got worse, feeling more like a light scratch was running through your esophagus in random patterns and directions. The heat in your body - once a sweet relief - was now bothersome. It wouldn't go away, and that fact was grating on your nerves. You still couldn't get all the what-ifs involving Papyrus out of your head, and that wasn't doing very much good for your mentality.

On the way to your sleeping space, you'd stopped to grab a plastic bag - tucked away under the fallen rafter-piece you often hung the following day's clothes on - and rifled through it. Ah, yes. There was little you adored more than your candle stash. There were seven of them, all different sizes and shapes, each with a different, somewhat conflicting scent. And yet, when they were lit together, everything seemed to merge into one, gorgeous aroma that overpowered the smells of dampness and rot that seemed to cling to every last surface in this forsaken home.

Your hands were still shaking - both from cold and residual fear - so it took a couple of matches to light the first one. It was long and slender, the smell of it waxy and rather bland. As per usual, you used that one to light all the others. It saved matches, and you didn't have to worry about accidentally burning your fingers or hands. Some of the wax dripped onto the floor, but you didn't pay it any mind, neatly arranging the candles in a circle around your bed. They were a foot away from any actual cloth - cold as you were, you would rather freeze to death than burn to death - but the lingering heat from their flames settled like feather on what little skin left exposed to the frigid air. The light reflected off of the different colored waxes, and the scents began to combine, creating a heavy, perfumed aroma that made the knot in your chest loosen, and your eyelids droop with fatigue.

The dance of the candles' flames cast large, uneven shadows on the walls of your room. They were long, towering, and soft. You liked finding shapes in them, and making up little stories about what you saw if anything in particular stood out to you. The light kind of reminded you of _Grillby's_. Curling up beneath the blankets, you tried to ignore the lingering, needle-like aches in your body, deciding it was probably a side effect of the mild-but-prolonged panic attack from before. You closed your eyes, only your mouth and nose left exposed for air, and took turns trying to pick out the individual fragrances.

There was blueberry - that one was a really dark blue color. There was a lighter blue, as well, that smelled like the ocean, only... more subtle. Then, there was the green one that smelled of eucalyptus. The pale yellow was honeysuckle, the orange being much more tropical, with scents of mango and papaya. The purple one was lavender, and it made you feel especially calm. The dark red candle - it was one of your favorites - was cinnamon-y, with notes of vanilla. It was the only one with an actual name on the label - " _Memories of Home_ ", it was called. You found it a little ironic...

* * *

You weren't sure how long you were laying down for, in a cocoon of blankets, trying to get a little more rest. Everything felt drained. But, despite all of that, you didn't actually _sleep_. It was more like... drifting between active and inactive consciousness. You were pretty sure you dreamed, but couldn't remember what it was about. By the time your subconscious **s** eemed t **o** give up on deep sleep, **t** here was l **i** ght filte **r** ing through the holes in your b **ed** ding.

When your eyes opened, they were crusty with sleep. Your sinuses were definitely congested by this point, and the scratchiness in your throat had developed into a constant burning sensation. It **fe** lt lik **e** you'd garg **l** ed **s** plinters. Your entire torso was starting to cramp **w** ith hunger, yet even the th **o** ught of food was making you **r** tummy twi **s** t with naus **e** a. There was a considerably annoying headache gnawing at your temples and everything felt uncomfortably warm.

It took a lot longer than expected, with many sleepy, discontent grumbles, but you got yourself to stand. Had it not been for a sudden bought of dizziness, it might've stayed that way. Ok, then, so you had stood up too fast. Let's try to not do that again...

_Ugh, my stomach..._

Not wanting to risk it again, you crawled slowly on your hands and knees over to the wardrobe where you stored you clothes and other assorted items. Food usually being one of them. It took some searching, but you eventually found a couple of granola bars. Maybe you were in this funk because you hadn't been eating much lately? You hoped that was the case.

Halfway through one of the bars, you quickly found out _that_ had been wishful thinking.

You darted to the nearest window, and ripped the sheet that covered it out of the way, your insides churning. Bile burned your already-aching throat as you leaned your head outside as your body rejected the meager amounts of food you'd managed to force down. T **h** ere wasn't m **u** ch to begin with, so afte **r** the firs **t** few wretches, you just sat there, dry-heaving, clutching the wooden window **s** ill hard en **o** ugh to **m** ake yo **u** r hands a **ch** e. You felt awful; like someone had lit a match and forced you to swallow it. The force of vomiting had brought tears to your eyes. Your poor head felt like it was being beaten on with a hammer to the verge of bursting.

By the time your muscles had finally relaxed, your knees buckled with fatigue, and you fell to them without resistance. Oh, god, you'd gotten sick! You couldn't be sick! You didn't have the time or the _resources_ to be sick! And it's not like anyone was around to tend to you until you got better... No-one even knew you were living out here or... or that you even _existed_ in the first place...

The helplessness that engulfed you almost made tears form, but you stubbornly (and painfully) swallow them down. _No_! You weren't going to cry!

...

For some reason, that made you cry even harder.

You were so alone...

The following days weren't much of an improvement.

Late in the afternoon on that first day, the crying spell had been followed by a disoriented nap. After waking, you had managed to gather up the motivation to try and scrape up some food. The walk into town was nearly twice as long than it usually was, because you had to keep stopping to sit down and rest, and try to quell the pain and nausea coursing through your body. And once you actually _reached_ the inner city, it was difficult to remain unnoticed long enough to get away with something, like nabbing something to eat or drink from a human. Most people tended to notice a small, skinny, ill-looking child stumbling down the street. A few humans had even tried to stop and ask you if you were alright, but short bursts of adrenaline had you instinctively running away.

Some of the humans were concerned, apparently. Though it didn't seem to be enough for them to take chase for a measly ten seconds. It was the best you could do right now; those quick sprints alway left you feeling winded and in pain, and your poor throat felt like stinging, biting insects had crawled inside your mouth and ravaged every last millimeter of flesh they could damage. It burned and ached, making your breaths wheeze with every exhale, and was nearly enough to make you gag a few times.

But that was besides the point.

The highlight of your day had been when you tried to shoplift a bottle of liquid medicine - the cheapest you could find, really - and nearly got caught.

See, that's the thing about being a sick, scraggly-looking thirteen-year-old. Once people notice how haggard a kid looks, their eyes rarely stray away. It didn't help much when an employee had noticed the distinct lack of adults in the area of the store you were browsing. One of them had tried to approach you _right_ as you were moving to slip the cold medicine under your sweater. Any concern had dissipated _at once_ , and they tried to make a grab for you. It had been terrifying.

You'd dropped the bottle on instinct when he tried to take your arm, and ducked out of the way. The only reason you had managed to get away was due to the fact that something had been knocked over during your klutzy scramble to flee the store. It had tripped the man up long enough for you to get away, and once the doors had been exited, well... you doubted he would have bothered to chase you much farther. On the way out, some person in a jacket nearly got in your way. You had barely managed to dodge out of their path. That had delayed the employee even more, thankfully, so you weren't too irritated with the stranger.

But... yeah. Mission failed, unfortunately. Looks like that area of town was off-limits for the time-being.

Day Two: everything had been sore after a day full of unnecessary activity; so much so, that you could hardly even move. The headache was ever-present by then, and despite the chilly winds that leaked through the makeshift curtains in your room, you were always feeling too hot. It left you feeling sweaty and just... _gross_ , in general. You'd managed to choke down the other half of that granola bar leftover from Day One. You couldn't remember too much - most of the day had been spent trying to sleep. Day Three was spent in a similar fashion, only with more coughing, sneezing, and occasional vomiting. You weren't sure if there was anything left in your tummy _to_ throw up at that point. You were trying to stay hydrated, but the pipes from the deep well pump were starting to freeze. It was more effort than it was worth, really. Most the time, you just stuck to scooping up snow that stuck to various panels, windowsills, and sheets on your house.

Snow was an _excellent_ makeshift cold compress. Even if it tended to aggravate the headache.

Day Four was ten times worse than the previous ones. You barely moved from your bed - not even to eat, or get snow to lay on your forehead. You couldn't remember much of it - and what you _could_ recall was nothing more than a feverish haze. There had been lots of bad dreams interrupting your naps.

Now, here you were. Day Five.

There were very few moments of clarity, that much was for sure. The times you could actually string together comprehensive thought, their extent was usually just to try and force down a little bit of food or snow (considering you didn't have liquid water. The frozen type would work well enough. It helped you feel a little bit cooler, at any rate). The rest of the time was spent with horrible, fevered dreams and waking nightmares that left you screaming and covering your ears in attempts to block out the residual voices they brought. Just like now.

Dreams of real knives and red eyes. Of the scents of magic and dust in the air. Sharp, sudden, glitching noises as images of little, white, upside-down hearts split into bits, or dissolved into a fine powder. Splashes of blue and red and yellow - primary colors, some random piece of your befuddled mind had informed - quickly followed by the glint of metal and the smell of death and fear. Some of it almost made you want to smile. You felt wonderful, feeling all of these things.

You felt _alive_.

And, oh, how _**beautiful the screams had been**_ -!

"Shut up..." Your voice was weak and rasping, worn by days of insufficient water and horrid coughing fits. And throwing up. Sometimes, you had coughing fits that were so harsh and pain, _they_ were the reason for vomiting.

You just wanted the damn voices to _stop_ already! They'd been tormenting you for _days_ , and you were _sick and_ _ **tired**_ of it! Sleep would be a godsend by this point. Long, deep, dreamless, endless sleep... No, stop it, _stop it_! You weren't going to sleep. That **b** ro **u** gh **t** noth **i** ng but nigh **t** mare **s** , suf **f** ering, and stars and so **u** ls above the dam **n** _flashbacks_ -!

... Were you going crazy?

No, because crazy people would have been okay with the scary thoughts and visuals that had been going through your head the past... however long it had been since they started. And you most certainly were _not_. In fact, you would have been more than happy if they went away. Like, _right now_. Yeah, that would be nice... You were so tired...

 _No, stay awake. Sleep means more nightmares_ , you thought, trying to reason with yourself.

This wasn't the first sickness that had been dealt with in the five years you'd spent **alone**. It certainly wouldn't be the last, either. But you could do this - you just had to believe in yourself, you'd be perfectly fine.

A memory came to m **i** nd. Whe **ne** ver you'd had your SOUL shatt **e** re **d** Underground, t **he** b **l** ackness had s **p** oken to you. Whispering little encouraging phrases. What did it say?

_**Stay determined.** _

Ye **a** h, that was it! **L** ike the v **o** ice said: you just had to stay determi **ne** d!

For some reason that thought kept resonating with you.

You were completely, utterly, undeniably alone. No-one knew where you lived, that you didn't have a home, or a family, or a single friend in the world. No other human even _knew that you existed_. _**Not a single one**_.

You gripped at your arms tightly. The over-sensitivity of your skin sent prickles and aching pain through your wrists and shoulders. It was getting hard to breathe - well, _harder_. You were practically panting with effort, sniffling in vain to clear your stuffy nose.

What had you done with your life? The only things you had accomplished was falling down a hole in a cursed mountain, and murdering countless people an untold amount of times. It was despicable. How could you have let that happen? _**Disgusting**_. The grip on your arms tightened, and your breaths became short and choppy, shoulders hunched and trembling as your body instinctively curled in on itself. A **p** ain st **a** rted **t** o rise in your c **he** st, righ **t** by where your heart fluttered **i** n your **c** hest.

Nails were biting into your skin, but you didn't bother letting go. The pain was... well, you wouldn't say _nice_ , but it distracted you. It made a lick of sense appear in the confused, fever-wrought haze in your head. These strange, intrusive thoughts... you hated it. " _Unpleasant_ " didn't even begin to describe the way it was making your skin crawl. So you pressed harder. It hurt, but it was almost a relief to feel in the midst of this huge mess.

Everything felt like **you** were experiencing it from behind a thi **c** k, gl **a** ss wa **ll** ; or maybe plastic was a b **e** tter comparison, consi **d** ering how hard it was **for** you to breathe rig **h** t now - it was as if you were b **e** ing strang **l** ed (as if your throat wasn't **p** ained enough already). You just couldn't _get enough air_. It was suffocating, and you were scared.

You just wanted **someone** to come and **he** lp, **a** pe **r** son who woul **d** swoop in and save **you** from this ungodly place in your life. You missed the monsters.

You missed your friends. You missed your mother.

You missed feeling like you _belonged_ somewhere.

The hyperventilation was starting to makes things go foggy. You felt your eyes slipping closed, but after nearly a week of restless sleep (if you could even call it that, to begin with), your body was tired and this particular stress had pushed everything inside of you to its breaking point. It didn't matter how badly you wanted to stay awake. So all you could do was silently pray that the nightmares would leave you alone, if only for tonight.

Your eyelids fell as your body went limp. For a moment, you could have _sworn_ there had been a silhouette playing with the edges of your vision. Something in the back of your mind wondered, " _am I dying?_ ", but the idea didn't scare you as much as you would have expected. Maybe you were just... too tired to care. Maybe it was an angel come to spirit you away to Heaven.

Or, knowing the things you'd done, perhaps the shape was your one-way ticket straight to Hell.

Either was fine by you, **s** o long **a** s you didn't have to put up with these **fe** elings anymore...

So... closing your eyes, you gave up, and let the angel take you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read, friends! And, thank you as well for just... enjoying my story! I can't believe how many comments and kudos and hits it's gotten. You all are a wonderful group and your kind comments and support motivate me like no other! *gives you all cookies and hugs*
> 
> I mean, seriously? Over a thousand hits, almost one hundred kudos, and so many kind comments! You all are the absolute best and I'm extremely grateful for all of you being here! It really brightens up my day to log in and read your comments and whatnot. I'm so happy that you all are enjoying things thus far, and I hope I continue to impress in later chapters and/or stories!
> 
> ~
> 
> Also, I've made a Tumblr account, so I could chat with you lovely people and (hopefully) remember to keep those following me updating on any goings-on in life. So I don't end up, say... leaving you all in the dark for over a month, because my internet isn't working *laughs*
> 
> Feel free to look me up at "determined-day-dreamer" on Tumblr, if you're interested! I'd love to talk with you all <3 :D


	6. well, it's about damn time...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After several days of searching, Sans finally stumbles upon what - or rather, who - he has been looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one is a week early, but I've got a good lead on Chapter 7, and I've had this one finished since, like, a day or two after the last one was posted. Plus, next week, I'm on spring break, so I'm hoping to have lots of time to work on future chapters then!
> 
> ~
> 
> If you haven't already, come pay me a visit on Tumblr - I'd love to talk to you guys there!
> 
> http://determined-day-dreamer.tumblr.com/

It took a little time - more than Sans would have liked, to be honest - before all of his digging _finally_ had some kind of payoff. The old woman with the diner was one thing, but she could only give him so much information. It was unfortunate, really. One of the only people in this city who was actually _aware_ of the kid's existence, and even she was unable to tell him anything remotely useful in finding them. Not that Sans blamed her. There wasn't a whole lot you could learn about a kid who roots through your trash every so often.

The idea that they needed to go through _garbage_ just to sustain themself still made a shiver run down the skeleton's spine. God, that _poor kid_...

_c'mon, get it together, bonehead. sitting around feeling sorry for 'em isn't going to help you find them._ He blinked a few times, and rolled his shoulders, feeling the joints crack. The quick spark of pain was quickly followed by relaxation, and it helped a little to clear up his thoughts. He'd been hard at work to figure something out about this kid; leaving Ebott mid-morning, scouting around different factions of the human city, and usually not returning until late in the afternoon, or early evening. He usually crashed on the couch immediately after getting home. Papyrus was having one hell of a time trying to keep him awake long enough to eat something most nights. For once, he didn't utter a single complaint about his shorter brother's constant napping. He knew it was all for a good cause, and that Sans was working himself down to the bone (heh) trying to find this kid.

But he digressed.

The point being, he'd finally run into a turning point in his investigations.

And he _meant_ "run into".

It was a day or two after talking to that older woman - he couldn't remember the exact date. If he had to wager a guess, he'd say it was very late in the morning, or early afternoon when it happened. He'd been scoping out areas of the city that weren't as busy, figuring a lesser amount of people would make something like a homeless kid stand out a little more in the crowd. With less humans passing by one another every day, there were less faces to memorize. So that meant, if the kid had been around these parts, there was a better chance at someone recognizing a description, or even a face, to match to Frisk's name.

Everything was remotely quiet and, thankfully, it seemed that the humans around here weren't quite as busy and raring to go places as the ones he'd come across in more densely populated areas of town. Meaning, there was a _lot_ less pushing, shoving, shouting, and a significantly larger amount of humans willing to stop and talk with him a moment. And, as it turned out, Sans' hypothesis was correct. Most of the humans he'd approached seemed to have some sort of familiarity with the idea of a kid with ratty brown hair wearing striped sweaters walking around here.

"I usually see a kid like that on my way to work."

"It's just them. No adults anywhere in sight."

"They usually try to stay out of the way of others."

"I tried to talk to them once, but they just kept walking. Like they didn't want to be noticed."

"I haven't seen them the past day or two, though..."

"I hope you find them soon."

The reactions had Sans letting himself feel a little bit of hope that he was close. He _felt_ like he was about to stumble upon something big, any second now.

Sans had been walking by one of the many small businesses in that area of town, when a sudden commotion erupted from inside. Someone was shouting.

"Hey! H-hey, kid, stop!"

The little white pips of light in his eye-sockets brightened for a moment with interest and - dare he say it - excitement. _bingo._ The monster adjusted his hood, making sure that it covered his skull and shadowed over his face to hide the distinct lack of skin, quickly making his way to the entryway of what looked like a pharmacy. Something inside clattered loudly to the ground, and it sounded like a collection of objects were rolling around, being kicked away by flustered feet. Quick, light steps were drawing near.

An unnecessary breath was forced from Sans' chest when a bundle collided with him. Sans instinctively tried to sidestep the force before it could take him down, and then, a strange sensation came over him, seeping into the very marrow of his bones. The world moved in slow-motion.

There was a pulse in his SOUL. Like it was being tugged at by invisible strings. He could feel an energy - not magic, this was too... _dark_ to be any sort of Monster-related magic - and for a moment, Sans felt like he'd been dipped into the icy river that ran along the northern face of Snowdin Town.

It hit him like a sack of bricks to the face. A deep, agonizing sense of pain that had nothing to do with the physical body. A sensation akin to something breaking through the left side of his ribcage. It felt like the energy grabbed hold of his SOUL, yanked it back out, and then punched into his sternum to force the inverted heart-shape back inside. It felt wrong - more so than anything he'd ever experienced in all of his life. It felt like... like...

Papyrus' voice rang through Sans' skull like a siren.

" _WHEN THEY WERE IN MY PRESENCE, I-IT FELT LIKE..._ _IT FELT LIKE THEY WERE CALLING OUT TO SOMETHING, BUT THEY WEREN'T USING ANY WORDS._ "

His eye-sockets went wide. He saw the brown hair and tanned complexion. That striped sweater...

" _IT WAS AS IF SOMETHING HAD REACHED INSIDE OF MY RIBCAGE, AND SQUEEZED MY SOUL IN ITS HANDS._ "

The image of a face burned itself into the forefront of his mind. It looked much too pale, shined with a thin layer of sweat. Their cheeks were slightly hollowed.

" _A-AND I FELT..._ "

They looked so _scared_.

" _FOR A MOMENT, IT ALMOST SEEMED LIKE I WOULD NEVER... BE HAPPY AGAIN._ "

And then, just like that, it was gone. Sans was left standing in front of the pharmacy, a bony hand coming up to grip at the jacket over his chest. His breathing was heavier than usual; he was so _tired_. Why was he tired? It felt like he'd just been sucker-punched in the gut and then forced to run a mile. He stared dumbly after the kid, who was still running. They stumbled. Sans heard someone come up behind him.

"Excuse me, sir!"

Sans turned to look at the human running over to him. He was flushed with anger, his dark-blonde hair flyaway and his uniform wrinkled, as if he'd just stumbled through some kind of miniature obstacle course. Sans was directly in his path. He did not move.

Instead, he stood there and spoke. "heya, pal. y'know that kid who just left?" The human looked at Sans like he had never before witnessed such an abomination to humankind.

"You mean the little shit that just tried to _shoplift_? Yeah, I know 'em! Almost every business in this damn city knows them!" The guy ran a hand through his hair with an aggravated sigh. "They're some scraggly kid who's probably from some backwater town and run away from home or something. They're nothing but a petty little thief. I swear to God, when I get my hands on that little...!"

Sans' ever-present grin stiffened, and he felt a hand give an involuntary _twitch_. When the man tried to shoulder him out of the way (was he honestly still trying to chase them? The kid had to be a block away by now!), Sans stopped him with a hand to the chest. He could practically feel it swell with rage underneath his bones, but cut off an oncoming tirade with words of his own.

"hey there, _pal_. where d'ya think you're going?" It was a rhetorical question - Sans cut the human off before he could get a single syllable out. "look, i dunno where you come from, or what that kid's done to piss you off so bad, but did you ever stop to think that _maybe_ they don't have any other _choice_?"

The words resonated with him. Did Frisk... ever have a choice?

"but let me tell you a thing or two about the kiddo that just ran off. i spent some time with them - they stayed with me n' my bro for a little while, a few years back. and let me tell you, they have got to be one of the _nicest_ humans i've ever met." His hand closed into a fist around the guy's shirt. "they've been to _hell and back_ and _maybe_ if you took a sec' to pull that oversized head outta your ass, you'd be able to see they're not in the best shape right now!"

He tugged the human down by his collar, grin anything but cheerful, and his voice tight with suppressed emotion. The... energy surge, or whatever it was, from earlier had shaken him up. What could be making the kid's SOUL cry out like that? "lemme tell ya', _friend_ : kids like that don't steal shit for no good reason. and i will be _damned_ if i let a jackass like you get away with trying to harass a kid that's been stuck on their own for god knows how long! and if you try to so much as lay a single _skin cell_ on them..."

He raised his head to stare the human straight in the eye. Emotions were roiling beneath his usual air of control and aloofness - Sans felt his aggravated magic manifest through a flashing, blue-and-yellow iris replacing the small, white pupil in his left socket. He saw the human pale. It brought up a sick sense of satisfaction in his chest.

"touch them, and you're gonna have a _really_ bad time...  **c a p h i c e** **'**?"

The blonde nodded frantically, looking too scared to speak. And _poof_ \- the threatening persona was gone like the flip of a switch. Sans let him go, closing his eyes with a deep, calming sigh. Readjusting his hood, he sent the human a lazy grin, and shoved his hands back in his pockets. "good. thanks for your time."

The skeleton walked off as if nothing happened, strolling in the same direction he'd last seen the kid running. Trying to catch up with them was useless by now, unfortunately. He had waited too long; it was obvious they knew this part of the city like the back of their hand, and Sans' knowledge of its layout was still very much like that of a tourist from some foreign land (not that it was too far from the truth).

Maybe if he had a few shortcuts mapped out in the area, he could, but that wasn't likely...

He'd just have to bide his time until then.

_hopefully it won't be too late, by then..._ he thought with a twinge of worry. They had looked so... run-down.

_don't worry, kid. i'll find you soon, 'kay? just... just stay alive until then, got it? please..._

* * *

That day, Sans didn't return to Ebott until the moon had risen. The only reason he'd been kept from staying out all night was because, unlike the usual, stale chill in Snowdin Town, the weather up here on the Surface was fresh and new and damn, was it _bitterly_ cold! It was as if the wind cut through his very osteocytes, and half of him had the unreasonable fear that ice would somehow form on his bones.

Not to mention the incessant phone calls and texts he'd gotten from Paps and Tori when the sun started going down.

Even after Sans had gone home (it was still strange, calling anything other than Snowdin his home, to be honest), he didn't go straight to _his_ house. Sending a quick text to Papyrus to apologize for staying out so late and let him know that his brother was safe, Sans made a shortcut-related beeline for the Queen's house.

It had to be past nine at night. Shiloh had been tucked in and put to sleep with a lullaby (a bit childish for a teen, she had said, but Sans knew she loved every last note). When Sans peeked through the living room window, he spotted his friend sitting in a familiar, plush armchair by the fireplace, reading. She looked up, and glanced around, before spotting the approaching skeleton. Sans mentally cringed when she firmly shut her book, and stood up, walking to the door. Taking a breath, the pun-loving skeleton waited for the oncoming lecture he was sure to receive. After all, he'd been out since ten that morning. Nearly _twelve hours_ of just... wandering around the city. Finding and memorizing new shortcuts throughout the human dwelling. Asking about the kid. A majority of his time had been spent wandering aimlessly in the direction he'd last seen them take, looking for any kind of clue to help him find them.

No dice.

Toriel all but threw open the door (somehow she managed to do that _quietly_ ; probably to avoid waking Shiloh), and stared at Sans like he'd grown a second head. He looked up at the goat woman with a slightly-nervous grin. "uh... hey, tori... nice night out, don'cha think?"

He was expecting a scold. What Sans hadn't predicted was Toriel scooping him up into a strong, clutching hug the moment words had finished leaving his mouth. Sans had his arms pinned to his sides and he uselessly flailed his legs in a moment of surprised panic. Wait - why was she... shaking? Oh, god, _please_ tell him that she did _not just sniffle_ \- ah, dammit...

Toriel was _crying_.

"t-tori?"

Sans felt her muzzle snuggle tightly against his cervical vertebrae, and he went still when a quiet, choked sound slipped from her throat. The befuddled expression on his face dropped into something much more concerned, and he tried to lean back far enough to see the woman's face. It didn't work very well, so the skeleton settled for tilting his head, and resting it against one of her long, furry ears. Crap - he'd just lost a slipper. It fell to the ground with a quiet _plop_. The cool air felt weird between his metatarsals. He flicked a wrist to awkwardly pat the Queen's arm with the back of his hand. "tor? what's up?"

Toriel just squeezed him harder. "You silly, silly skeleton!" she whispered fiercely, "Do you have _any_ idea how worried we were about you? Papyrus almost went charging into the city himself just to find you! You have not answered our phone calls, or text messages..." Sans stifled a groan when he felt her embrace strengthen.

"wha's the big deal, tori? i'm no baby-bones. nothing's gonna happen to me," said Sans, his voice laced with confusion. He almost flinched when the goat-monster suddenly pulled back. Her rosy eyes were absolutely _blazing_.

"You do not know of that for sure!" she protested, "We do not know how accepting the humans here are to our presence on the Surface just yet. What if a human tried to hurt you, Sans? Or worse? We have not managed to establish even basic lawful rights or protection for our race! A human could harm any of us, and they would not be faulted for it!"

"i kept my hood up," he tried to joke, but quailed under the intensity of Toriel's teary gaze. She... had a point. The process of having monsterkind being reintegrated into human society was a slow, rickety process. And, as much as it pained him to admit it, having a child as their Ambassador wasn't helping very much. Not many delegates or world leaders were willing to listen to the words of a thirteen-year-old with no prior experience in politics. "i... i'm sorry, tori. i didn't mean to make you all worry so much, i just..."

Toriel seemed to take his silence as a wordless signal, and carefully placed the skeleton back on the ground with a sheepish (goatish?) apology as he retrieved his fallen slipper. She stepped aside, and beckoned him inside with an insistent paw, wiping away whatever moisture she could from the fur around her eyes. He slouched his way inside, making an unsteady beeline for the couch sitting in front of the room's scenic windows. The plush cushions were like heaven on his back, and a long, content sigh drew from non-existent lungs as Sans felt his bones _finally_ relax a little. Cracking his neck and knuckles, respectively, Sans laid back against the sofa, nearly falling asleep right then and there. Toriel locked up behind him, and excused herself for a moment. There was some mild clattering in the kitchen, before he heard water running from the tap.

Thank the stars for Alphys and her genius ingenuity. She'd made quick work of supplying the developing monster homes with electricity and running water, using the natural river flowing Underground, and power supplied by the CORE. It involved a lot of calculations and fine-tuning that Sans dare not try to relive. He had been... considerably busy, ever since Barrier Fall . As was everyone else.

There were a few minutes of quiet, accompanied by the gentle _whoosh_ of flames. A kettle started to whistle, but it soon cut off. Sans breathed in deep through his nasal cavity, and gave an indulgent sigh as the scent of golden flower tea greeted him. Toriel offered him a cup of the warm liquid when she reentered the room (it was gladly accepted), and settled herself in her chair. Her reading glasses were carefully set to the side, resting on top of the novel she'd been attempting to read before Sans showed up.

"So..." she began as her friend took a sip of tea - warmth immediately blossomed in his chest as his magic took the substance and converted it into energy for his over-exhausted body, "Do you have anything you wish to tell me, Sans?"

Said monster took another sip of his drink, and breathed. "i've been straight with you 'bout this whole... ordeal since the beginning, right." It was more of a statement than a question. Toriel nodded patiently. Sans had gone to her about every last detail about his search since Papyrus' encounter a few days ago. Every. Last. Detail. "and i told you 'bout what happened after paps... y'know. everything he told us. and the woman i ran into on the way home one of those days."

Her expression became a little more guarded, but Toriel gave another diligent nod.

"well, tori... i saw them." He ignored her quiet gasp. "i dunno if they recognized me, though. they were... kinda in a rush to get away. some human worker said he caught 'em trying to steal something from the building..." He pinched a thumb and forefinger over his frontonasal sutures, as if developing a headache. "they ran into me - almost took me down. they looked fucking _terrified_ , tori. i've..."

He was about to say " _I've never seen them look that scared before_ ", but that would have been a lie. And Sans was no liar.

"i dunno what to think about it."

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for what felt like eternity - though it was probably more along the lines of thirty seconds. Sans' grin was noticeably stiff, and Toriel narrowed her eyes at his posture with a critical, worried eye. "There is something else that happened," she stated with an unusually deadpan tone. Sans merely nodded, huffing out another, tense sigh as he tipped the teacup to his teeth. The drink was wonderful. He remembered Toriel saying something about it being... one of Asgore's favorites, and that the preference must have rubbed off on her at some point.

"when they ran into me, i... felt something." A reminiscent shudder crawled up his back. "something dark. it was like paps said. i thought he was just overreacting, 'cause of the shock from it all, but... no. he was right." Sans was starting to ramble and he knew it, but the memory of those... feelings. They'd been nagging at the edge of his thoughts all day. "it felt like someone'd just stabbed me in the chest - a lot worse than breaking a rib. i felt... like this... energy was trying to pull my SOUL _out of me_ , and towards _them_. then this... this wave of emotion just came from outta _nowhere_ and it was like i couldn't _breathe_. i could have sworn this... entity, was sucking the hope straight out of me. there was so much fear, and it was... cold? i... it all felt so mundane and pointless."

His hands were shaking, and his grin became a grimace. Sans knew a thing or two about depression - call it personal experience - and he knew all too well what it was like, wanting to just... give up. It was a yawning, empty blackness; a bottomless pit that can't be filled, no matter what you do to try and keep the edges from crumbling away beneath your feet. Eventually you just get worn out - the kind that no amount of sleep can fix - and then you just... _stop_.

It honestly scared the _hell_ out of him to feel those energies radiating from the kid like Frisk.

"tori, i think it was them. i think it was frisk's SOUL - it has to be! just like papyrus said. they've been _screaming_ for someone to help them, but nobody came..." Sans ran a hand over his face, and released a heavy sigh. "it's scary how much sense this all makes..."

The goat-monster's voice sounded tight and withdrawn. Emotion was roiling beneath her tone, and yet she saved face with every last bit of queenly grace that she held. "What do you mean, Sans?"

The skeleton chanced a fleeting look at the motherly monster. There was a dark sense of dread and pain in her bright pink eyes. "you... you didn't see them, tor. their clothes were all ratty, and didn't fit right; hair looked like it hadn't been washed since who knows when. and, well, judging by how their cheeks were sunken in... i wouldn't doubt that they're pretty damn thin. i think... good god, toriel, i think it's been like this for them since they left!"

There was a troubled, yet thoughtful hum. "But... why was Frisk so eager to leave the Underground, if they did not have a home to return to?" There was a stiffness to her comment. Sans knew without asking that she was thinking about Frisk leaving the Ruins half a decade ago. He could only shrug in response.

"maybe they thought there was something waiting up here, but it didn't work out? and, y'know... the fact that every monster they came across tried to kill them and take their SOUL to asgore." Yeah. That might've been a pretty good motivation to get the fuck outta Dodge as soon as they possibly could.

Jesus, what was he even _doing_ here? The kid was out there, in the cold and the snow, probably sick, half-starved, and _alone_. He should be out there too, looking for them!

Toriel huffed a sigh from across the room. "Please do not try to leave, Sans," said she with a knowing edge, "It is late, and you are obviously exhausted. You have been working very hard lately, and it is taking a toll on your health." She stood, and approached the skeleton, who had just polished off his drink with a frustrated sip. Toriel accepted the dishware from him, pausing. After another moment, she placed a consoling paw on his shoulder. "Please, Sans. Stay the night and rest. You need it."

Sans reluctantly met her gaze. He nodded. Toriel smiled gratefully.

"I will call Papyrus and let him know you are safe. You are welcome to use the guest room." He merely gave another nod, and stood, stretching his arms above his head. Now that there had been a moment to actually sit down, fatigue was quick to gnaw at his senses. Stifling a yawn behind one hand, he moved to wander down the hall at his left.

He paused by the hall's threshold, and glanced over his shoulder. "hey tori?" She answered with an inquisitive hum, and Sans' smile was genuine as he murmured a quiet, "thanks." As per usual, the gratitude was waved off by his humble friend, and Toriel disappeared into the kitchen to clean up. After a few heartbeats, Sans turned, and continued down the hall for the house's guest bedroom.

Hopefully sleep would come easy tonight. He was _bushed_.

* * *

Unfortunately, the next few days weren't as successful as previous ones. For most of them, Sans started with an early morning after crashing at Tori's place - it was closer than his own house and, conveniently, had a shortcut that ended up mere feet from the Queen's doorstep that covered nearly half the distance between Ebott and the human city he'd been scouring for signs of a certain, human child. Sure, he could always teleport, but teleportation took a lot of energy, magic and concentration. You had to know the layout of the land, and picture _precisely_ where you want to end up, without any lapses in concentration or confidence - otherwise, things could get a little... nasty. He'd nearly had an arm detached during one such mishap a couple years back.

Anyways. The shortcuts were just... easier. Not to mention naturally occurring. They were just little wrinkles in space-time - all you needed was a little sprig of magic, and _presto_! You could be anywhere in the world within milliseconds. It was a neat little trick, if he did say so himself. Sans usually started out the daily search by hopping between a couple of these shortcuts he'd discovered here and there. There weren't nearly as many Up Here as there had been Down There - the Surface hadn't been forced to put up with the same degrees of magical strain and time-fuckery as the Underground had - but a few was better than none at all. Stars knew it made his job at least _somewhat_ easier. Travel-wise, at the very least.

After an initial scan of various segments in town, he tended to wander back towards that smaller area, with friendlier, more memorable faces. Asked around a bit, using the same questions more often than not. The humans he hadn't spoken to would do their best to answer, while the others would just shrug and sadly shake their heads, sending the skeleton-in-disguise some well-wishes in finding his friend as they went about their days.

He'd hang around allies, hoping a sneaky little shadow would happen by. Even tried hiding behind a couple different dumpsters for a spell to see if any hungry humans would take a chance at finding a meal (the thought - and the smell - of it still made Sans feel a little queasy). Hell, even aimless wandering helped at some points. A set of small footprints in the snow here, an oddly placed piece of cloth or garbage there... Call it wishful thinking, but Sans was half-tempted to consider the sparse leavings as evidence toward the kid's whereabouts.

But... after a total of five days, Sans' determination was starting to fail him. There'd been nothing but hours upon hours of pointless walking since the pharmacy mishap. It was aggravating, and he was worried, and frustrated, and drained. The usual stress lines under his eye-sockets had graduated to the class of "dark circles". These bags were getting so heavy, Sans would probably be charged an extra carry-on fee, had he needed to get on an airplane.

Good thing that wasn't likely to happen. Big hunks of metal and machinery flying through the sky filled with a hundred other monsters or humans didn't seem like the safest business practice, in his book.

_focus... i've gotta quit getting so distracted..._

It might have been easier, if it weren't for the fact that Sans felt ready to fall asleep, like, _right now_. Standing near some dilapidated old place at the outskirts of the city. This part of town was a little... edgy. Buildings were in worse condition, business not as consistent, and there were quite a few places with boarded up doors and windows. It was quieter here.

Sans swayed a little where he stood, head bobbing forward, before jolting upright with a half-startled sound. Now was not the time nor place to fall asleep! Maybe he should have accepted Toriel's offer to make him some tea this morning... a quick boost would have been nice right about now. He shook his skull, and readjusted the hood of his jacket when it slipped back on a cold gust of wind. Despite his fatigue, Sans was feeling... restless. It was too peaceful. The sense that something was going to happen was setting him on edge. There had to be... just, _something_ that was about to go wrong.

Sans took a deep breath, and held it. Gripped at the lining of his pockets.

And then...

_i... i need..._ He blinked hard, and shook his head as the inkling of an idea slithered into his skull. _wait... what do i need? there's something... missing here._

His legs started to work without conscious thought. An invisible rope was dragging him onward, farther down the sidewalk. _the hell is going on...? i can't..._

Then it clicked, like a voice had been magicked straight into his head.

_**I need help**_.

Who did?

_...frisk?_

His pace quickened. Sans was walking blind - he had no idea where he was headed, or how he would even know when he got to wherever this unknown location was. But instinct had never steered him wrong before. And right now, that instinct felt like someone was bludgeoning his ribcage with a hammer. It was the same energy from a few days ago.

Dark, fearful, depressed. A cry for help that made his SOUL ache with empathy.

Sans' magic detected a nearby shortcut, and, throwing caution to the wind, he took it. There was a quick, familiar sensation of pressure and a pull somewhere behind his sternum, and city streets gave way to a gravel path lined by overgrown hedgerows. When had he started running? Why did he suddenly feel so anxious? Dismal, intrusive thoughts began to rattle about in his skull - nothing more than a flash, really, but it was enough to make Sans feel distressed.

Disgusting, pathetic, all alone. No-one knew - no-one _cared_.

Help.

It kept coming back to that.

_**Help.** _

His feet stopped dead when the bushes finally gave way to a sizable, unkempt lawn. A tall, wooden building stripped almost entirely of paint lay before him. Parts of the foundation sagged, and honestly, the walls looked like they were just a few years shy of caving in on themselves. It was a mess.

An array of what looked like faded, stained blankets covering various openings and windows caught his attention. There was someone here. A human was _living_ here.

_kiddo? is that... you?_ he wondered, bypassing the scrap of bedding that covered a large hole in the door. He gave a brief look around, before something in his chest decided, _no_ , this wasn't where Sans needed to be. He should be upstairs - that was where the energies in the air seemed to be resonating most strongly. _don't worry, kid - i'm almost there. i'm coming._

Jumping a few broken steps, slipper-clad feet padded quickly down the awaiting corridor. There was an organized arrangement of doors to either side - the humans that owned this place in its prime must have been well-off, financially. This place looked like a manor taken straight from one of Mettaton's trashiest movies. The presence was different up here. Strong, but swirling in a mass of confusion. It was beginning to disorient the skeleton. He peered past one door to his left at random. Inside was a collection of... balloons? What the heck...? It looked like someone had been drawing, as well. There was a grayish, ashy residue smeared all over the lower portions of wall.

Sans grumbled quietly under his breath, trying to calm the growing distress as he moved on - god, why was he feeling so _anxious_ all of a sudden? The tightness in his chest almost felt foreign. Like the didn't really belong to him. _where the hell are you, frisk?_

At the end of the hall, there was - surprise, surprise - another door. This one looked larger than the others, and in surprisingly suitable condition. The wood had ornate designs carved into it, and the hinges were still, y'know, connected to the frame. There was a sound from inside that sounded like a whimper.

He nearly knocked the door off those resilient hinges to get inside. And there, curled up on themselves in a mess of blankets, was...

Stars above, there was _no way_ this human could be _Frisk_. This human... they were scrunched up in a fetal position, shivering like crazy with an unnatural pallor to their skin. Their face was contorted in pain, and Sans saw tears falling from their tightly-shut eyes. Incoherent mumbles were whispered under their breath.

He started when the kid suddenly went limp, and fell forward. With a flash of magic, Sans had teleported himself over to them, breaking the human's fall before their face met the floorboards. For a moment, he thought, _oh my god, did i just see this kid die_ , before taking note of the shallow rise-and-fall of their chest. Instantly, the shivering ball of kid was being cuddled to a bony, jacket-clad chest and Sans was finding it hard to breathe normally. Emotion clotted up somewhere deep inside, making any attempts at trying to so much as whisper threaten to come out as a scream.

"sh-shit, kid..." What had happened to that quiet, healthy, happy-go-lucky little rugrat Sans had left in the Judgment Hall five years ago? He could feel a bizarre temptation to place a hand on their chest. Frisk's very SOUL seemed to be crying out for help. He smoothed the hair from their pale, sweaty face. They were burning up with fever. "don't you worry, kiddo. i'm gonna get you outta here, and get you all fixed up. we're gonna take care of you..."

Leaning them against his chest, Sans withdrew the phone from his pocket, and pulled up Toriel's number on speed-dial. She picked up within the first three rings - thank god; she had a tendency to ignore her cellphone.

" _Hello. This is Toriel._ "

Sans damn near _gasped_ a sigh of relief. "tori, thank the stars," he murmured quickly. The Queen seemed to perk up at the urgency in his tone.

" _Sans? What is it? Are you all right?_ "

Said monster pinched the phone between his cheek and shoulder, and hitched the kid up into his arms. It took frighteningly little effort to hold them, they were so light. "call up alphys," he ordered quickly, already bustling out the door and downstairs, "have her get to your place _now_ \- don't care how busy she is. tell her it's an emergency."

" _Wh-what? Sans, please, what is it? Has something happened?_ "

He was nearly sprinting now, shouldering past the entryway, and heading straight for the shortcut he'd come here through. "i found the kid, tori. and they're in bad shape. sick, light as a fucking feather - i think they need a doctor and i doubt the humans would act very kindly if a skeleton just waltzed into the nearest hospital carrying some kid who looks half-dead."

He heard a sharp intake of breath from the other line. " _I will call her immediately._ "

"thanks, tori. on my way now - i'll 'port over to yours as soon as i'm close enough."

" _I'll tell Shiloh to get a few things ready while we wait. And Sans_?" He merely grunted in response.

" _Thank you._ " An indescribable depth lingered in the queenly monster's tone. " _We shall see you shortly_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you - I'm sososo excited to progress in this story! We're hit the threshold, and I've got a  
> LOT in store for you all later on! Truth be told, I honestly can't remember the last time I was this excited to work on one of my stories! :D
> 
> Also - I got twelve new comments and so many Kudos on the last chapter, and some of you actually went to check out my Tumblr... Wow, you guy, just... wow! Thank you so much! I kind of just sat there with the biggest grin on my face every time I saw a new message... Your feedback means a LOT to me, and it's my #1 Motivator!
> 
> Not to mention I had the opportunity to talk to some new, wonderful people - even someone I... more or less look up to, in an artistic sense. *still kinda nerding out about that*
> 
> ~
> 
> Speaking of, you should totally check this person out:
> 
> http://betraeyal.tumblr.com/
> 
> Their art is absolutely wonderful, and they've come up with a really cool AU! It's called "Undershade", and, truth be told, I'm a huge fan of it! I'd make some fanart, if I could actually draw well enough... whoops.
> 
> Eh, whatever. Who knows? I might write something for it instead.
> 
> Anyways, I'm done rambling! See you all in the next chapter! <3


	7. Someone Heard Your Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between memories and fever-dreams, Frisk sees a few familiar faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, come pay me a visit on Tumblr - I'd love to talk to you guys there!
> 
> http://determined-day-dreamer.tumblr.com/

_There were voices. Where were they coming from? Everything hurt and you were scared and confused and... and..._

" _ **Frisk**..." whispered a voice, this one different from the others, " **Frisk**..."_

_You just whimpered and pulled absently at your hair – when had you grabbed hair? Wait. Were you laying down? Something tickled against your nose, prompting a sneeze. The air smelled... floral?_

_Your eyes opened, only to squint shut when awaiting sunbeams dazzled you. A hand fanned against the light, blocking it from your sensitive eyes until they could adjust. There was a cool but pleasant breeze swishing through... grass? You blinked, and looked around, breathing deep to calm your anxious heart. Taking in the scenery, the atmosphere seeped into your body and sent a soothing aura over your mind._

_Endless skies, colored the cleanest of blues – pale along the horizon, and deepening the farther up you looked – dotted with wafer-thin clouds, edges wispy, like white candy floss. The sun was still below its apex, and a morning wind wrapped you in a pacifying embrace. You were sitting in the middle of a field, full of tall grasses and beautiful wildflowers. They all came in various shades of gold, with six rounded petals._

_Buttercups. You loved buttercups!_

_Looking around, it appeared that you were entirely alone. The horizon was left unmarred by buildings of distant cities and the smogs of human pollution. It was nice._

" _ **Frisk**..."_

_The whisper drifted behind you, and you turned in a half-circle, to be met with a thin grove of trees standing several yards away. Their trunks were thin and aspen-like, with light filtering through a canopy of healthy leaves. The farther into the forest you looked, the higher and less even its terrain became. It was oddly... familiar._

" _ **Frisk...** " the voice beckoned, " **Come to me... come...** "_

_You stood, slowly, fingers brushing over the buttercups by your palm. Was it just you, or was someone hiding behind one of the trees? A short, slender arm reached out to you, fingers extended, as if to offer you its hand. You found yourself being drawn to it._

" _ **Come to me, Frisk... let's play...** "_

_That... that sounded really fun! A smile pulled at your lips, and you began to wander towards the figure. You were a yard away from the extended arm, when it vanished in a cloud of... was that dust? It sparkled. Sunlight dappled the earthy forest floor through patches in its canopy. Something flew past you on the wind, and you felt compelled to follow._

" _ **Follow me... let's play a game... it will be fun...** "_

_Your feet jogged into the forest, a grin still tempting your features, excitement welling up in your chest as you took chase after the glittering entity. You tried to call out for it to wait up, but no sound was made. Almost as if your subconscious was trying to keep you from tainting the peaceful atmosphere of this place. You raced and ducked through trees and undergrowth, dodging thorny bushes and kicking up the leaf litter with your boots as you ran. What fun! It almost reminded you... of... of when you had..._

_The trees abruptly seemed to stretch and tower above you, and those clouds from mere moments ago had drawn in to cover the sun. The forest looked far too dark now. Your footsteps faltered, eyes casting a quick, uncomfortable glance around you. Which... which direction had you come from, again?_

_This game didn't seem very fun anymore._

_You wrapped your arms around yourself, playing with the wool of your sweater. Blue with pinks stripes, with the black leggings you wore at your last dance recital, and brown boots that stopped mid-calf – it was your favorite outfit. It looked cute on you – at least, that's what your mother always sa-!_

" _M-Mom?"_

 _Where_ was _your mother? You had... you'd been on a walk with her, right? Then she told you to wait while she got something from the car._

_You were a good little Frisk. So you waited; but waiting was boring. And boredom was hard for an eight-year-old to handle when they were surrounded by such pretty things in the forest!_

" _Mommy?"_

_It was getting dark! Where was she? This was the Forbidden Mountain – you weren't supposed to be here after dark! That was when the monsters came out and ate little kids like you!_

_"M-Mommy!"_

_You were scared. Tears made your eyes feel hot and irritated. The wind started to get chillier. It whispered to you..._

" _ **I just couldn't handle the responsibility...** "_

 _Behind you, a twig snapped. You picked up the nearest branch your panicked hands could find, and held it like a bat over your shoulder. "M... Mom?" The leaves rustled. Had she come back for you? It had been so long! You opened your mouth to apologize for wandering, when you swore you heard something_ growl _._

Monster! _It was a monster! It was gonna gobble you up! You didn't want to be gobbled!_

_You ran away._

_Fleeing deeper and deeper into the forest, a stick held tight in your hands, whacking obstacles out of your path, a bandage on your knee, while you cried out for your mother. For someone – anyone – to come and help you. The woods had grown so dark, you could hardly tell what was in front of you. All you knew, was you were headed uphill._

" _Mom! M-Mama! Where are you? **Mommy**!"_

_Something slithered over the path in front of your feet, and you tripped. A cry of pain ripped itself from your chest as you hit rock and soil, scraping your hands, knees, and face. Your leggings had rips in them now, and blood welled up where rocks broke skin. In the filtered moonlight that peeked through the clouds, you could see a great, gaping hole in the ground before you. The bottom wasn't visible. If it weren't for that slithery thing, you might have fallen right in – you would have died!_

_Tears fell from your face as you sobbed. "M-Momm-my!"_

_All was silent, until..._

" _ **Friiiisk... hehehe!** " You looked around, clutching your stick, sniffling. " **What's the matter, Frisk? Isn't this fun?** "_

" _N-no! No 's not fun!" you wailed, "I wanna go h-home!"_

_Something made the ground in front of you rumble. Was it an earthquake? You braced yourself on hands and knees with a shriek as the edge of the hole widened. There was a laugh – only it sounded distorted and mechanical. Inhuman._

_Something gripped the edge of the pit. It was as big as you, with sharp, metallic talons at the end of it that looked like broken bits of pipe that had been poorly welded together. The claws curled, and a second one soon joined it. You were too terrified to move as long tubes of jointed metal shot out of the pit, and wrapped themselves around nearby tree trunks as an enormous, hulking_ thing _pulled itself straight from the abyss. Long, pointy tendrils began to creep over the edge. You were certain this was a creature that had just crawled its way out of Hell._

_A large, squared object rose above the lip of earth, towering above you like a skyscraper. It looked like a screen. Something was hanging in front of it. After a quick, daring glance, you noticed how all the bits and pieces were strung together by a web of strong, thorny vines._

_Red eyes glinted at you from above, shadows contrasting violently over the different angles of the monstrous thing in front of you as its bulk blocked out what remained of the moon. Casting you in darkness._

_This was your doom._

_There was a shrill, ungodly shriek-of-a-laugh, and the ground gave way beneath you._

_You screamed as everything tumbled without control. and you fell into the hungry, waiting jaws of the unknown._

_Mt. Ebott had claimed another human child as its own._

* * *

_Nothing._

_There was absolutely... nothing. The vast, gaping emptiness threatened to consume you – if it hadn't already. It was hard to tell one from the other when everything around you had apparently ceased to be at one point or another. It was complete, total erasure. Like code being permanently wiped from a computer program, there was no sense, no logic, no substance._

_It was just..._

_**Nothing.** _

_And yet, beneath that gaping, cloudy sense of empty space, there was... a sound? Or was that your head playing tricks on you? It wouldn't have been the first time._

_A sensation, then. Because how could sound exist in a place of nonexistence? How could you exist, for that matter – there was no conceivable way for you to be_ aware _in a world that had been Erased._

_Or... had it?_

_The feeling was like a mixture of heavy static and chaotic wind, but the volume had been turned down as low as possible, so it was more like a subconscious itch that was impossible to scratch. Unspoken words on the tip of a tongue, an unnamed, invisible something-or-other that was out of reach, but only just._

_There was a pulse. Deep, heavy, and slow. Like a heart that was desperately clinging onto life, despite there being nothing left_ to _cling to. It almost seemed like a perverse invasion of privacy; how dare something try to live in a place that was devoid of it? Life and death had no true meaning here. Nothing had a meaning in the Void of existence._

_You might have blinked – it was impossible to tell, really – and looked around – an equally absurd idea. Still, there was nothing._

_And then... from the darkness..._

_They appeared._

_Their form filled you with senses of awe, terror, fear and a twisted sense of respect. It was a necessary hardship, to respect them, but not in an idolizing sense. You had seen what they could do, what they_ had _done. It was impossible to not think of them in such a light, be it negative or positive. You wished you didn't, but it was a lost cause resist._

_To not._

_To refuse them._

_You could never. You couldn't five years ago, and certainly not now._

_Never. No matter how badly you wanted to._

_**The demon that comes when people call its name.** _

_The grin on their face was anything but cheerful. There was no joy in that smile. No humor, nor kindness, nor compassion._

_That was the look of someone who was far beyond the reach of mercy. Not that they would have deserved it, either way. Not after what they had done. What the two of you had done together._

_Their lips stretched far, the expression looking disjointed and inhuman. A low, creaky rattle like death itself was uttered in a distorted giggle. A stomach-churning substance, thick and black, leaked from the orifices of their face in globs as they smirked at you. Their eyesockets were enlarged, empty pits. You couldn't see any signs of an actual eyeball sitting inside. Just thick, oozing black. It radiated with the scent of darkness and decay, leaving a bad aftertaste in your mouth as you breathed in._

_They did not speak. And yet, they did, at the same time. There were no words. It was as if someone held their mouth to your ear, and whispered the words like their most preciously-kept secret._

_This "secret" was sly and smug._

_**GreetIngs.** _

_**It is nice to see you again.** _

_**I kneW you couldn't stay away forever.** _

_**And I think you knew that, as weLL.** _

_You felt scared. The grin seemed to invade you very mind – a feeling that was not unfamiliar, nor was it welcomed._

_**BesidEs...** _

_You wanted to cover your ears and close your eyes. You wanted to escape. The voice felt like tangible heat underneath your skin. Like claws, readying to tear the flesh from your bones. To steal away every last part of you that was_ you _._

_You could feel a presence closing in on you._

_You could not recall a time where you had felt more afraid._

_**Did you not Betroth A possession of yours unto me?** _

_**You Cannot go bacK on your word...** _

_Yes, yes you could! You would never... never, ever,_ ever _again! Go away – leave – alone – you wanted to be_ alone _! Please, just go away!_

_Please..._

_**PARTNER. : )** _

_Whatever sat in wait on the sidelines pounced, and you_ screamed _._

_You lashed out at the claws threatening to tear you apart, piece by piece, until nary a single cell remained untouched by their hurtful hands. It tore at the very essence of your being without mercy, and you fought. You fought with all the ferocity you could muster as that dark presence tried to pin you down and take you as however it saw fit. There was a whirlwind of screeching all around you, and you might have covered your ears, had it not been for the fact that your arms would not move._

_You screamed more. You screamed for help. You screamed for your family. For your friends. Your mother. For someone to come and save you, to pull you out of this life that you were in, just as you had for_ years _now, but nobody..._

_Nobody came._

_No-one._

_Ever._

_Came._

* * *

You woke with a start, yet your body refused to move. The voice in your head was _shrieking_ at you to get up and _defend yourself_ against those horrid, agonizing claws that had been sinking into your chest and your head and heart and _everything_ but the body still remained unresponsive. Like a silent protest, your limbs only seemed to grow heavier at the incessant demands to get up. Unable to do much else than lay there, you took deep, albeit unsteady breaths as you tried to calm.

What a horrifying dream... or... series of dreams...?

Why were you so scared again? You were unable to recall... what had... caused it.

There was a heat resonating throughout your body. It pulsed and flared with the beat of your racing heart, crawling beneath the skin like a living, breathing beast laying siege to your insides. And while it did not hurt, it most certainly _was_ a miserable feeling. Your mind immediately began to connect the dots, and you nearly groaned aloud in realization.

Whatever nightmares your head had concocted, they _had_ to be a result of this fever. They weren't the first fever-dreams you'd had these past few days, and they certainly would not be the last.

This heat was getting to be too much. An odd, lightheaded sensation came, making you feel dizzy and disoriented, despite laying down, motionless, on a floor of blankets. You kicked your legs, to rid yourself of whatever coverings that had wrapped themselves around you as you slept. Some cold air would be a blessing right about now. You could feel the sweat making your pajamas cling to your skin.

It was an unpleasant surprise when the air around your flailing feet was... warm. Why would it be warm? Weren't you... it was _never_ warm in your home during this time of year! Was it the fever, perhaps?

You made a distasteful face at the thought, eyes still closed.

The blanket somehow managed to snake its way back around your calves and feet. A hand smoothed the hair away from your forehead.

Wait...

_A hand smoothed the hair away from your forehead._

Oh, god, _who was touching you_?!

An arm snapped back to smack the soft, warm hands away, and you turned to one side with a whimper. There was a _stranger_ here and they were _touching you_ and you were _not_ at home, _oh god what are they going to do to me?!_ When the stranger tried to come back, you kicked out blindly, still trying to roll away. It felt like every limb was connected to a lead weight. The stuffy warmth was smothering you, and it was getting harder to breathe as the fear took control. You might have started screaming at some point – the sore throat made it hard to tell one sensation apart from another. You felt your foot connect with something – a leg, maybe? You hoped you hit them where it counted.

A second set of hands – they were rough but smooth and colder than human hands should feel – firmly grasped your biceps, and rolled you back over. There were voices blending together in a disoriented cacophony and at some point you think you started to cry, flailing to ward away those unfriendly, unwanted claws trying to pin you down. The second set hand taken your ankles to keep you from kicking their owner again. So you squirmed and writhed and thrashed against them as if your life depended on it. Who knew? It just might.

There was a sudden, sharp pinch in your arm. Something cold spread out from the point of discomfort. Just like that, it seemed all the energy your body was willing to give had been spent, because the next thing you knew, you were sent back into unconsciousness.

* * *

_Glimpses of faces, distorted, rotting, and crumbling away into dust. Chains lined with barbed wire tearing away at your skin, lashing across your back like whips. The scent of blood and decay was suffocating. You could feel the bile rising in your throat. Shrill, hellish laughter as the noose tightened around your neck, slowly choking the life from your body. You could hardly move, and any of the screams for help you managed to choke out were too frail and quiet for anyone to hear._

_Endless timelines rushed toward you in one, fell swoop, threatening to pull your mind apart at the seams with horrors you longed to forget._

_Visions filled with clouds of dust and light glinting off of knives and redness welling up from torn, blue cloth. Rattling bones, fierce battle cries and spears made of pure energy slicing through you and everything around you. Red scarves, white lab coats, dramatic poses and the scent of butterscotch. Stone, snow, marsh, spiderwebs, lava, machinery and a golden corridor filled with bones and floating skulls that breathed beams of light. Golden flowers and red eyes. Croons of false kindness, and a black, gaping nothingness yawning to swallow up whatever dared to exist as the sound of a slow, distorted heartbeat pulse like white noise all around you._

_A kind, fatherly voice. Speaking to you through the empty darkness._

_A face, oddly familiar, yet foreign to you, looming from a point that seemed so far away, but you could have reached out and grabbed their hand if you wanted to..._

_The vines around your neck strengthened. You tried to cry for **help**. But nobody came._

_Either that, or no-one who heard had cared enough to come and rescue you._

Help, someone, please help! I can't breathe! _You were gasping as the panic took hold. Everything began to tingle and fade._ Somebody – anybody, **please**! I'm **dying** – I don't want to die!

_A voice called to you._

" _ **-sk..."**_

" _ **F...sk..."**_

* * *

"Frisk!"

Your eyes opened. Your spine stiffened as tears habitually began to form, and the next thing you knew, you were being touched. _Held_. Something – someone – was holding you. A soft, cooed hush echoed soothingly through the person's chest. You felt a broad ribcage beneath your ear begin to vibrate as they began to hum. It was a familiar, almost melancholy tune that reminded you of vast caves and glowing waterfalls and flowers that whispered as you walked by. You found yourself wanting to hum along.

A large yet gentle hand smoothed your hair, and this time, you leaned into the touch, rather than fighting it. Your poor self was exhausted – physically and mentally – and right now, all you wanted was a little comfort. The source of said comfort didn't matter. Sharp smells of cinnamon and burning cedar met your nose on an inhale, but it was softened by undertones of vanilla and butterscotch and a nurturing kind of warmth that reached your very bones. Everything still felt too hot, and the hug wasn't helping the matter much, but you were too comfy to care at the moment. You let your fingers clutch at the stranger's clothes – the fabric felt smooth and light under your skin.

The stranger's breathing pattern changed, adjusting into exaggeratedly long inhales and exhales; a silent prompting for you to follow. You did, that careful hand petting your head in support until the jumpy, uneven breaths smoothed. You felt them pat your hair approvingly, the touches soft and light as fur.

A voice broke the calming silence. It sounded oddly familiar.

"A... a-are they... b-b-better? M-may I, um... c-come a little cl-closer, now?"

There was a thoughtful hum from the chest beneath your ear, and something in the back of your mind perked up at the noise. You squinted your eyes open, and saw purple fabric.

"I am... unsure."

Your eyes flew open. That _voice_.

"Frisk...?" the oh-so-familiar voice murmured to you, and your hands clutched the tunic against your cheek tightly as an icy sense of dread began to creep up your back. "How do you feel? Is everything alright? You appeared to be having quite the nightmare before you woke..."

You did not answer. The tears started to form again, and it took everything you had to stifle a whimper. _No... not her..._ Anyone _but her...!_

There was a pause, and you felt yourself unwittingly begin to shake. The kind, motherly voice was filled with concern.

"My child?"

You went stiff as a board. ' _My child'..._ your mind echoed, before everything just... _clicked_.

Your arms moved without conscious thought, shoving the person – no, the _monster's_ chest, away from you. Whatever you were sitting on – when had you last fallen asleep in an actual, proper _bed_? – ended, and your heart clawed its way into your throat in a moment of free-fall. Something caught you.

Something _intangible_ caught you.

 _Magic!_ They were using _magic_ on you! An arm instinctively shot out, as if to swipe away the energy's source. Get it away – _**getitaway**!_

It dropped you a few inches shy of the floor (the _carpeted_ floor).

There was a thump as you hit the ground. You looked up to see three confused, concerned, _inhuman_ faces staring down to meet your eyes. A strangled yelp escaped your throat, and you took cover in the nearest available shelter – beneath a desk standing opposite of the bed you'd fallen from. It had a space underneath a thin, wide drawer for someone's legs or the seat of a chair to rest inside of when it was being used. You scrambled underneath it, sending a few papers resting on its surface fluttering down to the floor, along with a few pencils. You hugged your legs to your chest, jaw set, body trembling, arms pressed against either side of the space you curled beneath, as if you could push yourself back a little more that way.

There was a pregnant pause, before a deep, lazy voice drawled, "i'll take that as a 'no'."

Something flashed in your mind's eye – _jackets bones the smell of ketchup and grease and Blue magic tossing you from side to side to impale you on those bones and_ -!

Your hand shot out, mindlessly grabbing a weapon. You held the eraser-end of a sharpened pencil against your chest, panting with the effort to stave off what you were sure would turn into a panic attack because you had been _found_ you were surrounded by _monsters_ and _how did they find me – what are they gonna do to me?!_

You saw slippers in place of feet, the edges of a white lab coat, and large, white paws on the ground in front of you. You saw the lower halves of their faces – each set of lips (or, in one case, teeth) was drawn into a bemused frown. There was a rather forced-sounding chuckle. "hey, pal, don't worry. we ain't the 'hide under your bed' kinda monsters. no tricks goin' on here."

Something in Sans' tone shifted – but only just. You doubted the other two even noticed.

"but you already know that, don'cha, kid? now, c'mon, put the pencil down."

You swallowed as Toriel – oh, god, it was _Toriel_ – got down on her knees a foot away from your hiding spot. You felt a tear run down your cheek. It tickled, but you didn't dare lower your guard long enough to rub the residue away. Who knew what they would do to you, now that they had you? You wondered which of them had come to kidnap you from your house – who had led them on to where you were staying, in the first place. You had no doubt you'd been brought back to the settlement. Now the monsters had their King's murderer at arm's reach, and you were sick, weak, scared and _vulnerable_.

Were they going to imprison you? Hurt you? Or, God forbid... kill you?

It's not like there was anyone around to feel your absence. You could just drop off the face of the planet and no-one would notice. No-one would take the time to miss you, because there was no-one left who _cared_ enough to miss you.

You had a feeling some of them would be dancing over your grave in celebration.

" _kid_." The edges of bony fingers rested over your foot – the closest thing to them. You jerked back, and slammed your head against the bottom of the desk – Toriel gave a quiet gasp of "oh, goodness!" You clutched the afflicted area with a groan, and curled in on yourself, a pounding ache splitting through your skull. Pained tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, and a quiet whimper slipped by. You heard a sharp intake of breath from the skeleton, and pictured him wincing. "sorry. didn't mean to make you n' the desk _butt heads_ "

"Sans..." Toriel's voice came next, her tone obviously saying " _not now, please_ ". He just chuckled. You didn't bother looking up when you felt him draw back. You figured Toriel was going to try and pull you out from under the furniture, but when no-one came close again, you found yourself feeling faintly surprised. Daring to glance at the trio, you subtly peeked between the long, dirty locks of your hair, and blinked in bemusement.

Alphys had a hand placed on either of the other two's arms, giving them an almost chastising look. There was something stern hidden under her usually-meek visage that caught your interest. "Can... c-can I have a moment alone with my p-patient, please?"

_Patient?_

The other two gave silent nods, complying with the Royal Scientist's words with unexpected ease. "Of course, Alphys. We will... be waiting outside, if you need us." You peeked up from your knees a little further, just in time to catch the glance Toriel sent in your direction. There was something hidden in those stellar, rosy eyes of hers that made your chest ache. It looked sad – haunted, almost. But they were also filled with... what? You couldn't tell.

Your eyes warily snapped back to Alphys the moment the door closed, and you tried to scoot a little more into your hiding place, never mind the fact that your back was already pressed flush against the desk's frame. You felt like an animal, injured and trapped in a corner with a hungry predator loomed just beyond its claws' reach. Her eyes met yours (they were green – you'd never noticed that before) and for a moment, you could have sworn you saw... understanding? Why was she... why wasn't she trying to do... _something_ to you, for what you'd done? You had tricked her – you tricked everyone – and then you... you killed someone she cared about and then you _left_ them all there, and... a-and...

"W-why aren't you trying h-h-hurt me?" The question left your lips before you'd even had time to process it. It made you both flush with embarrassment and pale with dread simultaneously. Alphys' face took on a look of faint surprise, and yet it was as if she had almost been... expecting it? The question, you meant. Or one along the same lines as it. Her smile was sad yet kind.

"Why... why would I want to h-hurt someone I've been tr-trying to heal?" You blinked, and another tear crested over your cheek. She sat down a few feet away, crossing her legs and setting her hands in her lap. "Sans br-brought you back a few d-days ago-"

Sans being the one to fine you wasn't as surprising as it probably should have been.

"-and, well... y-you've been here, ever since... I wanted to move you to the Lab, s-since... all of my, um... my equipment is there, but... the Queen wouldn't let you out of her s-sight. So, um... s-so you've been... here. Resting. A-and I've been here. Trying to help..." She rested a scaled hand on the floor in front of her knees, as if wanting to reach out to you, before thinking better of it. "We... w-we've been really worried about you, Frisk. Ever since P-P-Papyrus came home, a-and..."

Alphys shrugged.

"The Queen has been restless. Papyrus has been a lot more distracted than usual... I-I've... I've been thinking about you almost e-every single day." Her cheeks flushed under your shocked stare. "I-I mean, sure... Undyne is still... well... sh-she's holding a grudge, for what... h-h-happened..." Your heart sank in your chest, but Alphys quickly continued before either of you could get too caught up on it, "B-but Sans... He's been out in the human city, wh-where he found you. Most days he left mid-morning, and didn't come back until after the sun set. All to f-find you."

Sans had been... looking for you? It sounded like the lazy skeleton had been logging some serious hours, trying to find your sick little self in your rundown house. But... that building was built on the outskirts of town! The only thing around it were sparse, scarcely-populated houses that were just as run down as yours! How could he have possibly...?

There was an awkward pause, with neither of you speaking, and you avoiding eye-contact with the monster. Your entire body was tense, senses alert for the smallest breath or twitch that may spell out danger for you. This was no safe haven – and if the Royal Scientist's words on Undyne meant anything, there were obviously monsters that would likely hate you for taking Asgore's SOUL. Monsters were made up of magic and kindness and compassion. It took a _lot_ to make someone like that hate you. There had been more than enough proof of that in your previous runs through the Underground. What you had done to them in this timeline had cut deep, and you leaving them under the mountain had only rubbed salt into the wound. So you doubted any sort of apology would be more like a slap to the face, no matter how heartfelt.

You didn't beat someone, apologize, pretend everything is okay, then beat them up again.

You didn't kill someone's hopes and dreams, run away, then come back and say you're sorry.

It wasn't right. It wasn't fair to the people that had been left behind to pick up those pieces.

Your throat constricted. You bit **d** own **o** n the i **n** side of your cheek to hide how **t** ight your chest had gotten. The carpet was a lot more interesting than it had been a few seconds ago. You picke **d** at th **e** fiber **s** abs **e** ntly, t **r** ying to ignore the heat building – **v** ery quickly – b **e** hind your eyes. A yellow-scaled hand gently brushed over yours. The headache was worsen **i** ng and your breathing got a li **t** tle funny.

You flinched, but did not pull away this time. _Don't_ , you mentally chided, _Don't you dare do it, Frisk. You've got no reason... Not compared to what you've made them all feel... not a damn reason..._

You couldn't bring yourself to look up when Alphys gently called your name. The concern radiating from her was smothering. You didn't deserve her sympathy! You weren't worthy of the care you'd been shown during the days spent unconscious, in a feverish haze. Sans should have left you where he found you...

The hand strengthened its grip over yours, and a stern call of " _Frisk_ " startled you into looking up. The seriousness in Alphys' tone was a little unexpected. You weren't used to hearing her speak without a stammer or two. Her wise, green gaze bore into you, and you tried to swallow around the lump forming in your throat. Moving cautiously, she came to hold both of your hands in her own. Her scales were small here, but smooth and cool. You resisted the urge to rub a thumb over her palm to feel them. Alphys gave your hands a little squeeze before she broke the silence.

What she said was simple. It puzzled you.

"Stop it."

You couldn't help it – you tilted your head at her, relaying your confusion.

"Frisk..." Her tone sounded... tense? Like she was silently trying to will an idea into your head. "How do you think Sans found you?" You merely blinked at her, at a loss. She looked conflicted for a moment, and you could practically see the gears turning in the reptilian monster's head. "He... w=3ell, I guess Papyrus was the first to feel it, since he was the first out of us all to s-see you, but... they both..."

Alphys sighed again, and scrunched her nose a little in thought. Admittedly, it was a cute expression.

"Th-they... both of them said that they... felt your SOUL. C-calling for help..."

What?

"I-I didn't really believe it at first. I've never heard of monsters being able to _hear_ each other speaking on a metaphysical scale before, let alone actually _feeling_ where the other person was based on those thoughts, but... I-I suppose..." There was an odd smile, and it felt as if Alphys was looking through you. "W-well, you're not a monster, are you? Humans... they're not made up of magic; that's where Determination falls into play... A-and, well... You've always been a very determined person. S-so, I guess... it might be... possible... a-and you're a living example of that!"

You just gave your head a little shake, communicating to her that you did not follow. She flushed, looking sheepish. "S-sorry, I guess I got... caught up in my own theories. B-but that's beside the point! The point being, is... he could tell that you needed help. A-and I can feel it, too." Alphys gently cupped her hands around yours. The honest care and concern in your eyes made the knot in your throat reform. Wait – why were her eyes so shiny, all of a sudden? _Is she... c-crying?_

Alphys took a deep, steadying breath. "I... I-I can feel it, Frisk. We... w-we all can, somehow... You need _help_ , Frisk. We want to _help you_. Let us help you. You need it – you _deserve_ it. Please, j-just let us help you..."

There was so much emotion in her eyes, such a desperate sense of hope that it left you feeling exposed and vulnerable. What made her think you were worthy of her help? Of anyone's help? You certainly didn't think so... why should she?

"Frisk," she besought, "Please."

The tightness in your chest released all at once, and suddenly the burning manifested through tears gathering in your eyes. You looked down in shame and embarrassment as they rolled down your cheeks without a sound. There was a moment's hesitation, a sniffle, and then Alphys came closer, a guiding hand at your arm as she guided you out of your hiding place. There was a moment of fear, which ended as swiftly as it came, when her arms were wrapping around your shoulders. It was unexpected, out-of-character, even, considering how awkward you remembered her being with physical contact. But the hug was not unwelcome.

It was needed, if anything.

You were so _tired_ of being alone. You didn't want to be alone anymore. But how could you possibly call being with the monsters home, after what you did to Asgore, to all of them? God, when was the last time someone had hugged you? Told you they cared, and wanted to help you?

You honestly couldn't remember.

Next thing you knew, you were leaning against Alphys. One thing was for sure. You needed help. You couldn't do this on your own much longer. You didn't _want_ to do it by yourself anymore.

There was a sniffle, and a quiet, hiccuped sob. Tears dripped from your chin, and your entire body was tense and trembling with the effort to keep from bawling, outright. A hand gently ran through the long strands of your dirty, unkempt hair. In the back of your mind, you silently noted the desire for a haircut.

"It's okay, Frisk. You can cry." Alphys' voice sounded more nasally than usual. Was she crying too? "We're gonna help you get better, okay?"

You couldn't bring yourself to speak, so you nodded wordlessly into the collar or her lab coat. She gave you another, quick squeeze, before going back to petting your hair.

"We're going to help," she repeated, "You're don't have to be alone anymore...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, looks like Frisk has finally woken up, and seen a few familiar faces from their adventures under Mt. Ebott!
> 
> I apologize that the chapter was so... skippy. I had a bit of trouble trying to fit all I wanted into this one, while still making it flow together the best I could. Honestly, I was kind of afraid I wouldn't finish this one in time - I got pretty sick, myself over the weekend. But, I'm feeling much better now, so I got to crank this one out in time! Yay!
> 
> I'm not sure how long I'll be able to continue weekly updates, by I'm definitely going to try my best to keep up with it!
> 
> Also - just, a huge thank you to everyone who is supporting me and my story. I'm sorry I didn't really reply to your comments this time around - what with being sick, and all that - but know that I appreciate you all and your kind words very, very much! <3


	8. that... doesn't look too good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans and Alphys get a little peek at just how much Frisk has been coping with things during the time they spent alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, feel free to come and talk to me on Tumblr!
> 
> http://determined-day-dreamer.tumblr.com/

From the moment Sans' slippers hit Toriel's doorstep, he knew things were going to be hectic. If the way the kid's breathing sounded more like gasps instead of breaths was any hint, it was obvious they weren't out of the woods just yet. Not to mention how light and... fragile, they felt in his arms. Kids shouldn't feel that thin. He could feel their bones. There was none of that squishiness he'd gotten used to feeling whenever he screwed around with Shiloh – during their horseplay, when picking her up, hugging her... even though she was thin, she was soft. From all of the skin and whatnot, he figured.

Frisk, however... They were just... not.

But he was getting off topic, here.

The front door opened before Sans was even in arm's reach. The look on Toriel's face was one of mingling strain and relief, but the moment they fell on a certain child's limp, unresponsive body in his arms, her expression was nothing short of pure devastation. She ushered Sans inside with a worrisome paw at his scapula, and wordlessly steered him down the hallway. He caught a glimpse of Shiloh sitting on the couch; she was craning her head to peer at the scraggly lump in the skeleton's arms, but was apparently trying to stay out of the way.

"My child?" Toriel called back to the curious human behind them, not pausing her stride, "Could you go and fetch a bowl and washcloth? Fill it with cool water, and bring it to the guest room, please." Shiloh nodded wordlessly, and Sans saw them get up, before entering the guest bedroom. There was a muffled, clattering sound as a person inside adjusted some sort of item. His mind connected the dots, and deducted that Alphys must have gotten here a few minutes earlier.

"hey, alph," he greeted quickly, transferring Frisk from his hold to the bed. The blankets were pulled to the side, but he hesitated on tucking them around the kid just yet. They were filthy – well in need of a bath, that much was for sure. Their clothes were ill-fitting and littered with holes. "hey tori? should we get the kid into something more... comfortable?"

The queenly monster came up beside Sans, and seemed to observe the human for a moment. The door creaked as Shiloh entered the room, and handed off supplies to her mother without prompting. Toriel sent her a loving smile, and drew close to Frisk's bedside. Alphys was setting up equipment at the side of the room – medical supplies, Sans wagered. There was a large, black duffle bag resting against the wall that he guessed was one of Undyne's – it had been hastily (but methodically) stuffed with various items. He caught sight of a few bottles – some filled with liquid and others with small pills – an array of different 'scopes for examining the body, and... what _was_ that thing? It looked like a long, rectangular handheld game.

A muted conversation took place – Shiloh was eagerly going to fetch a spare set of pajamas for the other kid, and Toriel wiped some dirt from their face with her washcloth. Alphys was setting up some kind of retractable stand. For a nutrient drip, maybe? How she managed to get something like that over here was beyond him. Her Inventory boxes had to be filled to the brim right about now.

Sans rubbed his skull with a heavy hand, feeling the edges of fatigue begin to pull at his eyesockets. There was a foreboding feeling that permeated the air. It was practically radiating from the kid like a storm – he could nearly picture dark, weighted clouds swirling around them. He could feel it, and he _knew_ Alphys and Toriel could feel it as well, but thankfully, they didn't bother to ask questions (yet).

It still astounded Sans that he could feel them calling out like that.

Now, that's not to say that "communication" between different SOULs was impossible. He'd heard plenty of stories about it before, even felt it himself a few times over the years. Monsters were beings made up of kindness, hope and compassion, and a SOUL was the embodiment of all that positivity. Mix that together with cup of internal turmoil, a dash of magic, some close contact, a concerned loved one, and _presto_! You've got yourself a recipe for subconscious connectivity. It wasn't common, but it happened. When the person experiences distress, their magic instinctively tries to seek out a source for help before that negativity can affect someone's stats or – in some cases – their HP.

Sans absently gripped the patch of jacket that covered where his own SOUL lay.

Sure, empathy was one thing, but he never thought it was possible for a single being to be _this_ vocal. He literally heard the kid a street away, for crying out loud!

The skeleton released a long sigh under his breath, which morphed into a yawn. God, he was tired. And this atmosphere wasn't doing a whole lot to help – sucking the energy straight from his bones, it felt like. Replacing heat with an empty, forlorn sense of cold that seemed oddly... metaphysical. It was draining, to say the least; he couldn't help but wonder, if this was how it felt from outside, just what kind of state was this kid's SOUL in?

"Sans?" The voice of Toriel broke the haze, and Sans blinked, looking startled for a moment. She and Alphys were regarding him with careful, concerned expressions from where they stood. "You are looking a little... disoriented. Is everything all right?"

Shaking his head, as if that would fling away the stray thoughts, Sans let a lazy grin slip into place. "yeah, m' fine, tori. i'm just _bone-_ tired, heh. been working my tailbone off lately, y'know?"

The concern was still there, softened by understanding. "Well, I would not mind it if you took a nap. You may use my room, if you would like to."

"nah, it's cool, tori. i'll just..." He paused to stifle another yawn, holding up a finger to signal that he needed a moment. Running a hand over his skull, the skeleton gave them another grin. "i'll go sit on the couch or something, get out of your hair _fur_ a bit, while you gals take care of things in here." He spun on one heel for the door before anyone could protest, meeting Shiloh in the hall as she came out of her room, a pair of pajamas in her arms. She smiled at him, and he tousled the girl's hair in passing.

The heavy, void-like feeling faded with every step he took away from the guest bedroom, but its presence was still very powerful by the time Sans plopped down onto Toriel's couch. It was... smothering. With more familiarity than he'd like to admit. It was the same kind of feeling Sans had had since... he couldn't even remember when. A long time – well before Frisk came to the mountain.

The depression had lessened some over the years, but that didn't mean it was gone completely. There were still periods where getting out of bed was a lot more like running a marathon. The moments where he slept literally all day, but lay awake with his thoughts at night, making him too tired to stay awake at his various posts throughout the Underground come morning. Things had gotten pretty bad after Frisk showed up – after who knows how many RESETs, being trapped in that time loop with no end in sight, no control over where or when each little skip would happen. Being forced to relive the same ten minutes over and over and _over_ again for what felt like an eon. All of those times where his brother, his home, his friends, his _everything_ had been taken away from him...

All for it to come back with a knife to the ribs, or the blink of an eye.

It was taxing in more ways than one.

Letting his spine relax, Sans sank into the sofa's large, plush cushions, feeling some of the extra tension begin to drip from each bone like melting wax; a slow, steady process, but each little droplet gone leaving behind so much relief he could have wept.

As his body eased farther into the couch, he felt his thoughts begin to wander away from reality. They became fewer, farther in between, and more abstract in concept. He was _bushed_.

When Toriel came to check on him a few minutes later, Sans was out like a light, too deeply asleep to so much as snore.

* * *

When consciousness returned, it was unnatural and slow, filled with disgruntled murmurs and lots of shifting around. Eye sockets squinted open with a grumble, and Sans habitually rubbed at them with a hand. He yawned, and stretched, taking note of how a blanket had been draped over him at some point. _toriel_ , he concluded with an absent smile, rolling over to lay on his back. She was always looking out for him. It was nice, having someone other than Papyrus fussing over his well-being. Not that he didn't appreciate Paps – it just... felt like there was less of an obligation involved. Plus, it kept his brother from getting too worked up, considering there were others to share his... workload, so to speak.

Anyway...

Why was he awake, in the first place? If the groggy weight in his bones was anything to go by, Sans could have definitely used a few more hours of sleep. His body was drained after putting in so much work to find the kid. Usually, when he was tired, Sans was dead to the world until he'd gotten his rest.

So why was he awake?

He sat up, reveling in the quiet darkness, thinking it over. He felt something twinge within his chest, and suddenly, it dawned on him. _oh..._ The lights of his eyes flickered, glancing down the hall to his right. Waiting.

A few seconds later, he heard what sounded like a whimper.

Sans rose, adjusted his hoodie, yawning once more and stretching his arms above his head. Feeling a little more alert, the skeleton meandered toward the guest room. It was tucked between Shiloh's and Toriel's bedrooms, respectively, about halfway down the hall; he and Papyrus had spent their fair share of nights there – usually during one of Shiloh's sleepovers. She loved having her friends come over to visit, and Toriel didn't seem to mind it much, either. She liked having people around. Sans would wager a guess that it stemmed from all those years the matriarch had spent alone, living in the Ruins.

The door opened without protest, sliding silently over the carpeted floor. A gentle, blueish light met his eyes, which was a bit of a surprise, but hey. No calcium off of his nasal cavity. He wasn't as astonished as he should have been, spotting Alphys hovering by Frisk's bedside with some kind of device in her claws. Not wanting to startle her, he quietly rapped a knuckle against the door, and the scientist gave a little twitch. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and offered a tiny smile. It was returned, and Sans closed the door behind him as he stepped inside.

"hey, alph," Sans murmured under his breath, eyeing the thing Alphys held. It was that weird... whatever-it-was he'd spotted in her bag last time he'd been awake. It was large and rectangular – like a telephone, and was two-thirds the length of the Royal Scientist's forearm. There was a long wire leading out of the top; it had been slipped beneath the collar of Frisk's new pajama top (a black button-up made of fleece, patterned with white skulls, accompanied by matching pants. They were one of Shiloh's favorites). A screen took up the device's center, with a few buttons placed symmetrically on either side of it.

She flipped a switch along the left side of the device, and Sans rose a brow when a line cast across the screen, pulsing to an unheard beat. He sent Alphys a look, silently asking her to explain.

"I-it's a machine used to measure the conditions of a SOUL without having to summon it from the individual. So there isn't as much s-stress put on the person." Her fingers tapped at a few buttons, and the wavelength minimized, moving to the top left-hand corner of the machine's monitor. "You attach it to the patient's chest, and with some adjustments..."

A fuzzy, pixelated shape began to form. Her fingers carefully turned a dial next to where the wire ran from. The object began to sharpen.

"..An image of their SOUL will be formed, while the device measures its vitals."

Instead of responding with something contributory, Sans released a quiet, impressed whistle. "damn. kid must be sleepin' pretty deep, if this hasn't woken 'em up yet." If it weren't for the rise-and-fall of their chest, Sans might have thought they'd passed in their sleep. Alphys made an uncomfortable sound that drew his attention. That didn't... sound very good.

"F-Frisk had an... ep-episode, a few hours after you left the room. They woke up, b-but they weren't really... _there_. I-I think they had a nightmare. Toriel tried to calm them down, but... it must have triggered something, and the reaction wasn't very pleasant. They had a panic attack, and things got a little..." She twirled a wrist, searching for the right words. "W-well, 'violent' is a little extreme, but Frisk _did_ try to get away from us, and it involved some kicking. They wouldn't calm down, so... I had to, uh... p-put them under..."

Sans stared at her, uncomprehending. She forced an uneasy smile. "Th-the serum packs a bit of a punch. Frisk shouldn't be waking up until... late morning, mid-afternoon? G-give or take a few hours..."

Her admittance left the skeleton in deep thought as the other returned attention to the device in her hands; a nightmare, huh? It must have been one hell of a dream. He rubbed at his cervical vertebrae with a hand, exhaling a sigh.

The next few minutes were silent, until whatever Alphys been tampering with apparently began to work. The gasp she released didn't bode too well. "O-oh, my stars..." He wandered closer, trying to peer over the reptilian monster's shoulder.

 _oh, what now?_ he found himself wondering.

"al? everything ok?" the question was accompanied by an unsure smile. "you're lookin' a little pale around the scales."

Alphys looked at him over her shoulder, then glanced back to the device. Sans came up beside her, and peered over her arm. At first, he was confused. All he saw was a grayish mass of... what looked like a human SOUL, slowly rotating in place to show off its features from all sides. It was a little dull, in terms of color – Frisk's SOUL had always been a bright, vibrant shade of red. This was more of a... pale, gray-brown. What was that thing? Maybe she'd set it up wrong. He almost suggested trying to press a few more buttons, to get the image to focus, but her expression caused hesitation. A few, uncomprehending seconds passed before it hit him.

He was already _looking_ at Frisk's SOUL. There was nothing to adjust.

Alphys automatically passed the meter off to Sans, who held it with nothing short of utter disbelief on his face. Because there it was – the very culmination of Frisk's entire _being_ , on a monitor, in his hands, right in front of him, and... it all looked so _wrong_.

For one, the heart was misshapen. There were... small, scattered cracks and indentations in its sides. They looked like little cuts and bruises. The color was alarmingly pale, the usual, determined red now a rosy-brown. Its glow was practically nonexistent. Sans noted a particularly large crack running down from the heart's cleft. That... was worrying.

Alphys spoke up, voice hollow with confusion and shock. "L-look at their stats..." She pointed at a small box of text to the left of the display. The abbreviations "LV", "ATK", "DEF", and "HP" were respectively lined up in a column.

His eye sockets went dark.

She must have taken his silence as an invitation to elaborate. "It... th-this meter is designed to record the strength of a monster's SOUL, w-which is why some of the data is m-missing. There's not as much magic in a human to take into account for accurate measurements." A claw gently tapped the question marks next to what should have been a scale of Frisk's metaphysical attack and defense. "But, on terms of... o-of their LOVE, and HOPE..."

When it came to things like this, is seemed like every last aspect to a monster's spiritual... "anatomy", if you will, had some kind of acronym.

ATK and DEF were self-explanatory; short for _Attack_ and _Defense_ ; the scale of someone's physical and mental strength.

EXP was a measurement of someone's _Execution Points_ , which fed in to their LV. The only way to get it is through killing another creature that had it.

LV, or LOVE, stood for one's _Level Of Violence_. The amount of how much EXP you had, organized into different tiers.

And HOPE... it was a lesser-known acronym, since most people didn't need to worry so much about it. Because the majority didn't have to worry about having low baselines when it came to HP

HOPE was the _Heart's Overall Presence of Emotion_.

In battle, it acted a lot like health points. If you were hurt, it dropped, and the weaker you become as a result. Hit zero, and you were dust in the wind. Its scale more or less represented... a monster's form of Determination. Their will to live. And in a place like New Home, the will to live had been _everything_. If it weren't for all of the hope and encouragement Asgore had given his subjects throughout the centuries, Sans doubted there would have been any monsters left to free, in the first place.

"I don't know how this is p-possible," Alphys admitted under her breath, temporarily breaking through the confused fog in Sans' skull. "I mean, for most monsters with a low LV, their base-HP is around twenty. But... but Frisk, they... I... I-I don't understand it... I've never _seen_ something like th-this before..."

Just what was she talking about? Well...

The fact that Frisk had an LV of two (probably a result from their fight with Asgore, Sans realized), and yet, despite that... their max HP was at a _whopping_... one point.

Sans passed the meter off to his friend, running a hand over the curve of his skull. A dark feeling began to settle in his chest as pieces started to put themselves together.

Back when Frisk first climbed the mountain, they were at LV1 with 20HP – the average for younger monsters; children, specifically, though there were some older monsters with similar stats. Now Sans had seen those levels fluctuate a _lot_ during the time Frisk spent Underground: from their initial no-mercy debut, to countless 'neutral' runs, ending with a final, genocidal timeline, before the kid tried to go pacifistic. Their LOVE would change in every single run, and their HOPE rose with each new 'level' that was reached. In this timeline, even, where the only act of violence they'd committed was fighting Asgore. In spite of it all, their HP had never gone below twenty. So, seeing as how the kid had gone up a tier, theoretically they should have a higher level of HP, right?

Yeah, apparently not.

Things only got _more_ exciting when the scientist next to him made another, startled sound. There was a twitch of surprise when she grabbed his sleeve, pulling him close. "Sans... S-Sans, look!"

"w-wha-?" His eyes followed her frantic motions back to the screen in her hands, and quickly delved back into profound confusion. "alph... is... why is that...?" He blinked hard, as if it would made understanding dawn upon him. "is their hp... a decimal?"

Instead of answering, Alphys started to pace, muttering to herself in a fierce whisper. "Th-this shouldn't be possible," she was saying, "It's, i-it's _impossible_! H-how could someone... I-I've never heard of this before. Someone falling below 1HP, but they're s-still alive? Half a point... I-I don't understand it..."

Sans could only shrug, hating this helpless, unaware feeling rising in his ribcage. "maybe it's got something to do with all that determination humans have. if a human soul can exist after the body dies, why should half of an hp point be so unlikely?" A disgruntled sigh was his only response, and Alphys startled to fiddle with the hem of her lab coat. It was a nervous habit she had. Sans resisted the urge to sigh. " _alphys_."

He forced her to stand in one spot with a firm, but gentle hand over each shoulder. They made eye contact for a moment. " _calm down_ , ok? i get you're worried – hell, we all are – but there's nothing we can do about it. so right now, until we _can_ , we should focus on making sure the kid gets better. i didn't spend all that time _skull_ king around a human city for nothin'."

There was a quiet groan of protest in response to the pun, but it got her to smile a little.

And that was a victory in Sans' book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, everyone. It's been a rough couple of weeks for me. This chapter is a little on the short side, which I apologize for, but it's mostly filler stuff. The next couple chapters might be a little slow, but hey. Gaining comfort and trust in a group of people that you've grown to fear is a rather slow-going process.
> 
> Also, I am so, SO sorry for not replying to your comments. I promise you all that I read and reread and loved every single one of them. It's just been a hectic few weeks, so responses have kind of skipped my mind...
> 
> I'll try to keep up with them from now on! Sorry again, and thank you all very much, as always!


	9. Cinnamon and Butterscotch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk is awake and, under the monsters' care, quickly recovering their health. During this time, Frisk finally meets the child who took up the reins after they escaped the mountain.

It had been two days since you'd first woken up in the home shared by Queen Toriel and the True Pacifist child.

Most of it was spent in bed, as your body worked to expel the worst of your illness – it had been about two weeks since the symptoms first showed up, you'd deducted (give or take a couple days). Thankfully, most of it had been spent unconscious. You probably would have gone half-crazy if you'd been awake and aware of all these horrible sensations the entire time. The aches and chills had just started to fade, although your sinuses were still so congested you'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to breathe through your nose. That, and this pesky sore throat and cough were still hanging around. They were more annoying than anything now, but each cough made your esophagus hurt just a little bit more.

Out of it all, though, sneezing had to be the _worst_. It left a gross mess that took several tissues to clean away, ripped at your phlegm-y esophagus, and with your nose being too clogged to release the full force of it, each one made an uncomfortable pressure bubbled up in your ears that took a while to go away.

Plus, sinus headaches. Talk about _unpleasant_.

Long story short, now that you were lucid enough to experience it, you'd been feeling pretty icky the past couple days. You tried to take as many naps as possible, to sleep through the worst of this funk, but one could only sleep for so long before they got tired of it (pun somewhat intended).

When you could actually manage to stay upright for more than a few minutes without getting light-headed, you took to exploring this little room that had been donated to the cause of your recovery. It was simply furnished with little décor. A bed was nestled across from the door and closet, tucked in the corner beside a large window. It gave you a scenic view of the snowy backyard. Just beyond the foot of the bed's frame was a bookshelf, and the desk you'd hidden under that first, eventful day, opposite from where you rested your head. A dresser sat a few more feet down from that.

Going by the layout and lack of personalized aspects, you figured this was a guest bedroom. The bookshelf was filled with various items, aside from its namesake purpose of holding books; knickknacks, mostly. Reading material varied from children's books to longer, more complicated novels, and puzzle-activity collections. You'd considered reading through some of them, but... they weren't yours, and you didn't want to be rude by picking through everything like that. You'd yet to so much as look inside the closet. Right now, instinct had everything on a "look-don't-touch" basis.

Well, asides from the bed. But that was kind of a given, considering.

Most of the time was passed by listening to Toriel and the human move about their house. Sometimes the Queen would knock on your door, asking if you needed anything. If you didn't respond after a few minutes, she tended to get the message and walk away, but there was at least one or two times a day where she'd peek her head inside to check up on you. When that happened, you either covered yourself with blankets, or hid in that little space underneath the desk.

By now, Toriel seemed to understand that you had little to no intention of leaving your temporary room, and that you were uncomfortable with the others' presences. The hallway was always suspiciously empty when you left to use the bathroom, and since you wouldn't come out for meals, she'd taken to leaving plates of food or healthy snacks by the door whenever you peeked outside (you'd taken to stashing the more preservable ones in various spots around the room. Old habits die hard). She always waited a few minutes after you left empty dishware outside before picking it up without a word. You appreciated that she held respect for your personal space, but you also knew that she was determined to step past those boundaries of yours, sooner or later. You could feel it every time she stopped by to check in.

She wanted to see you – and you couldn't fathom as to why. After what you did... why was she acting so eager-to-please and patient with you?

You didn't deserve her kindness. Or her tolerance.

Honestly, you wished you were back in your house. At least there you didn't constantly feel like you were walking on eggshells. Here, though... in this house, you were scared of making too much noise. Or ruining something, and upsetting your hostess. Hell – so much as looking outside of window for too long made you nervous! What if a monster came through the yard and saw you? They would know where you were, and try to... you didn't know what, nor did you want to find out.

What if Toriel received backlash from her community, for harboring the very human who had murdered their king under her roof? What a way to repay her kindness.

It was better safe than sorry, and to tell the truth, the very idea of staying in the monster settlement for much longer made your stomach knot with anxiety.

You were scared of what someone may do, if they were feeling particularly... unkind. Not that you would have blamed them, but... still. You weren't exactly _eager_ to face the threat of injury. Or worse.

The only monster you actively saw and sort-of-interacted with was Alphys. The Royal Scientist came over every afternoon for a checkup on your health. She was quiet and courteous and moved carefully, so even if you still felt... antsy, things weren't as bad as they could have been. Besides, there was less history between the two of you. Though she'd helped you out a lot in the Underground, you hadn't interacted with her quite as much as the others. That, and she was honestly one of the only monsters you could remember not trying to attack you outright, or... _at all_ , for that matter.

Sure there had been the mix-up with Mettaton, but she hadn't done it to hurt you. She had wanted to help you – as well as herself. And even then, Mettaton still tried to kill you. _Willingly_. Alphys had only helped you; she upgraded your phone, taught you about accessing Inventory boxes, and even on how to use and defend yourself against Yellow magic! But not once had she ever, _personally_ attempted to use it on you.

In a way, her proximity was... calming (well, as calming as a monster could be to you right now). The closeness still made your wary, but you could handle it more easily than the others. As much as you tried to avoid your temporary caretakers, you couldn't deny that a piece of you was yearning for closeness and comfort. However wary or frightened that piece may or may not be. Humans were not solitary creatures, and you were no exception. Five years had really taken their toll on you, but you'd grown used to the pattern of solitude that surrounded you like a barrier.

It wasn't until... day four, maybe, that someone finally tried to take a small step over those boundaries.

* * *

There was a quiet knock on the guest room's door, a little past eleven in the morning. It had startled you some – after all, Toriel had already come and gone with a plate of breakfast (sliced fruit, toast, and a cup of tea; it'd been scrumptious), and Alphys wasn't due to show up for at least a few more hours. Other than that, you were left alone throughout the day. This little schedule divergence already had you feeling nervous, but you tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat. Easier said than done.

You didn't move a muscle, silently hoping that whoever was out there would go away.

After a few moments, your tummy flipped as the doorknob slowly twisted to one side. You could feel a cold sweat break across your neck. Moving on instinct, you grabbed your blanket, and quickly swept over to the space underneath the desk. Wrapping the cover over yourself, only your eyes remained visible as you tucked into that protective spot, just barely peering beyond the wood frame hiding your anxious nest from the doorway's viewpoint. It felt like you were inside a soft, snug cocoon.

The door peeked open, and you held your breath when an unfamiliar voice murmured a quiet "hello?"

You did not answer.

A head of wavy, reddish hair edged past the frame, and you saw pale, freckle-spattered skin. The Pacifist child cast a quick, inquisitive glance around the room, and you stiffened when those curious, green-flecked eyes landed on the edges of blanket coming from beneath the desk. They followed the trail of fabric, and your eyes locked for a moment. She looked surprised to see you down there, but smiled with a kind (albeit unsure) aura about her.

"Hi..." the child murmured, voice a bit cautious, "Um... may I come in?"

You did not distinctly agree nor disagree; the girl seemed to take this as an unspoken invitation (it wasn't, but then again, you hadn't exactly denied her, either), and quietly stepped inside. The door was closed behind her, and you hunkered down inside your cocoon the best you could – until you felt the desk pressing against your spine. Huddled like this, you could no longer see her. Judging by the sound of something resting on the ground by the entrance, you guessed she had sat down on the floor over there. Thankfully. At least she got the message that you wanted your space (despite the fact that she was kind of invading it already).

"Hi," she said again, introducing herself. Her voice sounding a little muffled from where you were concealed. "You're... Frisk, right...? It's nice to meet you."

You did your best to keep from flinching. How did she know your name? Had the monsters told her about you? If they had, why was she still acting so... civil? Why did her tone sound as if you were some kind of long-lost friend? This girl was confusing.

You stayed silent, unable to focus on much more than the furious flutter of your heart. The beat was pounding in your ears, and you squeezed your eyes shut. Attempting to keep your breaths steady and even. _You're alright_ , your mind chanted, _She's all the way over there. You're in your safe space. Nothing can get you here..._

About a minute lasted before the human broke the silence again, sounding hesitant. "...I'm Shiloh."

There was a bud of guilt that bloomed at your unresponsive attitude. After all, the child – Shiloh – and Toriel had given you a segment of their home to call your own while you got over this illness; you were feeling so much better now because of it. They could have easily had Sans leave you outside to die, or called the Guard on you to be taken care of. But they didn't.

Then again, _Toriel_ was a part of this equation. You _highly_ doubted she'd leave someone who needed help outside in the cold. No matter how horrible they were, or what they'd done to hurt her. The fact that you were here now was testament to that.

"It's the weekend," Shiloh went on after another lapse of silence, "So I don't have school today. But Mom-" something in you flinched when she referred to Toriel as her _mother_ "-had to help with settling more monsters in their new homes up here. So she won't be home until later. She... asked me to see if you wanted a tour of the house."

What?

"She thinks being around monsters makes you scared... but I'm a human, too, so we both thought it might make you a little more comfy."

You shifted, moving to look past the desk's frame, regarding the other child with a critical eye. Why was she so interested in talking to you? Had Toriel put her up to it? If she knew about you, there was no doubt she had at least an _inkling_ of what happened while you were Underground. Of what you did to them – to _Asgore_. This child had never met him (you made sure of that), but he was a kind monster that was loved and held dear by his subjects. If this... Shiloh, loved her friends so much, than shouldn't she be angry with you, by extension? You'd taken away a large piece of the monsters' happiness – their hopes and dreams! Why was she acting like this?

Why was everyone being so damn _civil_ toward you? You didn't deserve their mercy!

You fully expected your mind to begin delving into those self-deprecating thoughts, as it had a tendency to do. The other human seemed to have caught to that. Her voice broke into the mental turmoil, and you moved to glance over at her out of reflex.

"Aren't you getting bored of being in one room all day?" You frowned shyly down at your lap, but oddly enough, that brought a tiny smile to her face.

"It's okay," she murmured, and you felt very much like a timid animal that had been frightened into a corner, "Mom isn't home. Alphys won't be here for a little while. There aren't any monsters around. Don't you want to come out? We could... sit in the hall, and I could show you things from there."

A quiet, unsure hum escaped before you could stifle the sound. Shiloh looked taken aback to hear you making actual _noise_ , but the smile grew a little more. You felt your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. Shiloh's grin turned a little more devilish as an idea seemed to come to her.

"Mom made cinnamon-butterscotch pie~" the girl sang, giving a quick, humorous eyebrow-bounce. It startled an amused smile out of you, and Shiloh quite honestly looked _delighted_ to see it. You leaned forward a bit, head inclined in a way helped hide your face beneath your fringe. The blanket was still hugged firmly over your body. Shiloh eyed it with a tinge of understanding to her gaze. "You can bring that with you, if you want."

The nerves kept you from finding a voice to use just yet, so you tipped your head at her. She merely nodded, and gave a little shrug. "I don't mind. It's just a blanket."

You hummed again, picking at the soft fabric. As tempting as the offer sounded, and as kind as Shiloh seemed, you still didn't feel comfortable with wandering around Toriel's home just yet. What if she came home unexpectedly? Or Alphys showed up early? Or some unaware monster dropped by for a visit? Surely the other human had a few friends in the community. One of them might come over to play, and then what?

They'd see you, recognize you, and your cover would be blown. You'd have to leave as soon as possible, before word of your stay in the settlement spread. What if Undyne caught wind of your being here (if she hadn't already), and came to... take care of you? If the stories she'd shared with you were any proof, she had loved Asgore like family. You had _murdered_ her _family_. People don't just get over something like that because the murderer was feeling a little sick. Spirited, passionate, protective people like Undyne were _bound_ to hold grudges. There would be no mercy offered to you if she found out, that much was for sure.

The memory of a spear piercing your belly made you flinch violently back into hiding with a strangled gasp. You could still feel the thrum of pure magic making an indescribable sort of agony carve a literal _hole_ through your body. The warmth of its energy, the expression Undyne's face – she'd looked so _torn_ – because you were supposed to be the final SOUL, the last human child they had to kill, and they were all going to be _free_ now but she still had to _kill a child_ to get it and now _everything was going black and there was a light in the darkness and you_ _ **don't want to die**_ _you had to_ _ **RESET**_ _before it was too late and-_!

There was something pressing against your forehead.

Someone was _touching you **get it away**_!

A hand caught yours when you went to smack whatever it was that was touching you away. Why was it so hard to breathe? Your ears were ringing and everything felt too hot and stuffy and why wasn't this _thing_ _letting you go?!_

"H-hey!" A voice cut into the jumbled thoughts when your arms gave a sharp twist, trying to remove the force holding them. "Hey, i-it's okay, you're okay! I'm not going to hurt you, Frisk. It's okay."

They kept repeating that. " _It's okay, you're okay, everything is okay_ " but was it _really_? Nothing was okay because you'd _hurt_ someone and you hadn't just _hurt_ him you _killed_ him and now he was _dead_ and then you just _left everyone else behind_ and god you were so _horrible_.

"Frisk...?" A quiet whimper escaped your still-sore throat. "Are you alright? Do you need anything?"

You just shook your head because, _No, nothing is alright! I shouldn't_ be _here!_

"Can you take a breath? A deep one. Count to five in your head while you do it." A hand went to gently grasp your own, but you flinched back. It didn't try a second time. You followed through with the voice's request, even if it was a bit odd. The first few tries didn't work very well – your breathing had gone ragged, and your lungs almost seemed to skip with the beat of your heart, making the air catch and bubble in your throat. When that happened, the voice – you were beginning to recognize it as Shiloh's – would quietly reassure you, and have you start again. She didn't try to touch you again, as it made your pulse race even faster, and instinct had you cowering.

Once you'd successfully taken your first, full, uninterrupted breath, Shiloh gave a quiet, encouraging cheer that made you feel more self-aware. A little more grounded to reality. It let your head separate itself from the thoughts that swirled inside for a moment, and something clicked as a part of you realized you were in the middle of a panic attack. That familiar, static-like tingle in your face and hands ached, but the pain made you alert. The breaths were easier to take after that, after _recognizing_ that this is what's happening, you weren't in any immediate danger, and you needed to calm down.

You used the blanket to wipe tears from your face – when had you started crying? – and attempted to sniffle. Your nose was running, so a tissue from the box on the desk was gently pressed into your hands. Internally grimacing at the absolute mess that was... well, _you_ , you went about distracting yourself by wiping away any remaining moisture. For a moment, you dared to peek up at the nearby presence, to find Shiloh had backed up while you calmed down. She was crouching next to the bed, balancing on the pads of her feet, tissue box in-hand with a patient, understanding look on her face. The expression reminded you so much of the ones Toriel had given you before this huge mess, that you almost broke into tears. It was by pure stubbornness and determination that you managed to hold it together.

"Do you want me to get you some water?" asked Shiloh, and you found yourself mechanically nodding along, just wanting a few moments alone to collect yourself. Something gave you the feeling that Shiloh knew that. She merely nodded, placed the box by your blanket-covered feet, stood, and walked out of the room with purpose in her stride. The quiet that was left behind made it easier to breathe, and you did so thankfully, drawing in deep lungfuls of air in an attempt to ward away what remained of the episode.

It's not like you were a total stranger to panic attacks – you used to get them every now and then as a young child, before you Fell. They were far and few in between then, with you having to face those alone, more often than not. Your human mother was always too busy to stop and calm you – it stressed her out just as much as it had you, taking the time to talk her child down from them. So you learned to cope. Then, with everything you'd been forced to face underground, it was no wonder there had been one every so often.

The worst you could recall had to be the one you'd had toward the end of your latest run through the Underground. You'd already fought, and been killed by, Asgore a handful of times. Every death had been agonizing, and even now, you still felt phantom pains of his trident's prongs forcing their way through flesh and bone. He had forced you to RESET so many times, but you hadn't wanted to fight. You didn't want to hurt him, let alone _kill_ him – what was even the point anymore? So what, you'd get his SOUL, and be able to breach the Barrier. Big deal. What were you going to do with that? Go back to a home where you were constantly bored, alone, and ignored by the people around you? A place where you felt... like an outcast, despite those people having been your family.

Hell, your own _mother_ was the reason why you'd- _!_

You stopped thinking after that, and anxiously chewed on your nails for a distraction. Remembering your human family... brought up a lot of old demons you would be better off forgetting. It's not that they were _bad_ people... It was just...

Well, there was a reason why you considered your adventures under Mt. Ebott as being some of the greatest moments of your life, and let's leave it at that.

You combed your fingers through unkempt, overgrown locks of hair, giving an absent grimace of distaste. It had grown a lot over the years – and after five years without a trim, it was frizzy and nearly reached your mid-back. Long hair definitely did not suit you, in your opinion – it made you feel oddly uncomfortable. Maybe you could have Shiloh fetch you a pair of scissors...

A gentle knocking on the door broke you from your reverie; aforementioned human was standing in the doorway again, a gentle, hesitant smile on her face. She had a glass of water and two forks in one hand, and a plate in the other. There was a familiar, sharp-yet-sweet scent that drifted toward you when she entered, and it made your stomach flip as a barrage of memories came to mind. Ones that were filled with warm, comforting hugs, gentle lullabies, and the scent of old books and cedar. Of moments throughout countless timelines where you had been tucked in every night for days, weeks, sometimes months on-end, and given a kiss to the forehead before dreams claimed you.

But there were also times filled with dust and heartache. Those were the ones you wished you could banish from your memory forever.

"I thought you might want some," Shiloh murmured, handing off the glass to you before taking a seat by the bed, and sliding the plate to sit directly in between the two of you. On it, sat a slice of pie. One fork had been set on the edge, and you leaned forward a little, wriggling a hand out from beneath your blanket-cocoon to take it. You glanced at the utensil, then to Shiloh, who just smiled again. She was... surprisingly considerate. For a human, at least. You appreciated it.

After a few more moments of waiting, you still hadn't moved. Something deep down made you hesitate; what if this was just some kind of weird... test, or just a big misunderstanding? You didn't want to do something rude on accident. You sat still until the other child leaned over far enough to spear the corner off of the slice. She looked at you expectantly, and, taking it as permission to help yourself, you followed suit.

The dessert's taste matched the scent that came with it – the sweet, mouth-watering richness of butterscotch blossomed across your palette, complimented beautifully by a sharper, tongue-tingling undertone of cinnamon. Your eyes closed with bliss, and you nearly released a hum of delight.

The vaguely familiar taste gave you the strangest feeling of coming home.

God, you'd missed this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Shiloh and Frisk have had their first, official meeting. I'm... not entirely sure on how I feel about the playing out of things here, to be honest. I tried my best, but I'll admit it was more work than I expected, digging into Shiloh's character a bit more to try and puzzle out how she'd react to this strange, new human child staying in her home. Let alone with the few stories she'd heard about Frisk from Toriel, Sans, and other various monsters (they don't really discuss Frisk much, for obvious reasons).
> 
> Also, a bit of a disclaimer: the depiction of Frisk's panic attack(s) in this story are based, for the most part, on my own experience with them. Panic attacks aren't really something you can measure the severity/symptoms of on a scale - everyone experiences them in a different way. So, I'm using my own experiences with them as a sort-of-reference to Frisk's. Needless to say - the intensity can vary, depending on circumstance. I'm not trying to romanticize them in any way, shape or form, nor am I trying to "brush them off" as being "no big deal". So please keep that in-mind.
> 
> Another note: I'm aware that there are quite a few spelling/grammar mistakes in previous chapters (thank you to those who have pointed them out for me, by the way - I'm keeping a note of those!). I've yet to go back and correct them, by I'm going to start revising previous chapters sometime over the next few weeks.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading!


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